


The Color of Friendship (Part 1 of True Colors)

by sarahenany, Thursday26



Series: True Colors [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spitelout Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahenany/pseuds/sarahenany, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday26/pseuds/Thursday26
Summary: Snotlout-centric h/c tag to "Snotlout Gets the Axe" that took on a life of its own. Remember how grim and forbidding Spitelout looked? Follow that to its logical conclusion. Snotlout's dad whips him half to death: Hookfang, the Riders and their dragons are there to pick up the pieces.(And that's only the beginning.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhoIsWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoIsWren/gifts).



> 1\. Slight deviation from the ep in that the side plot with the wedding ends before this scene, instead of ending the episode.  
> 2\. Not into Snotlout whump and h/c? Click 'back' now. I recommend 'Idiomatic' and 'Dragon Fights'.  
> 3\. The dragons' names for themselves - Fire-Scale, Spike-Tail, etc - are the invention of the wonderful 10Blue10, here on the AO3, and used with permission.

 

“No, it was my fault,” Snotlout says, turning his back on his friends, unable to look at them. “I got this.” He’s glad Hiccup and Astrid can’t see his face as he approaches Spitelout. Snotlout can’t see Spitelout’s face, but he can tell he’s not happy from the way he holds his shoulders. He steps up next to his dad, giving him a glance out of the corner of his eye… or he tries to. He can’t quite manage it.

His mouth opens before he can stop himself. “I know what you’re going to say, Dad—” he can’t even look at him— “I messed up again.” He looks at the ground, his back to Spitelout. He can’t even chance seeing Spitelout’s expression out of the corner of his eye. Snotlout takes a breath, “I ruined the union ceremony and I let you down, and all the Jorgensons down.” Somehow, he manages to turn around, looking his father in the eye. For a moment. “But you have no idea what I went through to get this here.” He holds up the axe. Gods, he fought so hard to make sure that he got the thing here. He puts his hand over his heart, holding onto the axe in his left hand by his side. “I risked my life and my friends’ lives fighting a gigantic torch-breathing dragon for this _stupid_ thing.” Snotlout grips onto the axe with both hands, glaring at it. Sure it’s a ceremonial axe, meant to be treated with reverence, but he doesn’t regret saying it. He almost died for this axe today. Hiccup almost died. Astrid almost died. No axe is worth that.

He turns his attention to Spitelout, who is looking down at him, a glare on his face. Snotlout doesn’t stop, though. He can’t. “And if that’s not good enough for you then I guess I’m never going to be good enough!” Spitelout’s face twists. Snotlout can’t look long enough to decipher why. “There! I said it! So here is your stupid axe, and sorry about the ceremony.” He holds out the axe towards his dad, contrite look on his face. His chest is heaving from his monologue, but he somehow feels lighter.

But Spitelout doesn’t move. He glares down at Snotlout like he has smelled something awful. Snotlout keeps the axe out, waiting for his dad to take it, but he doesn’t. His arm starts to shake as the silence stretches between them. Snotlout holds it out for as long as he can, trying to keep his breathing under control. Then, finally, he lowers it.

The only sound is the sighing of the waves on the sand, muted with low tide. Spitelout remains silent. Except for the one moment when his gaze flickered down to Snotlout like he stepped in dragon dung, he’s staring straight ahead at a point on the horizon, like his son isn’t there at all. Hiccup and Astrid are standing at a respectful distance of about a hundred yards. From where they stand, they can only see the line of Spitelout’s shoulders, hard and forbidding, both father and son little more than silhouettes against the night sky. Snotlout’s head is tilted up toward his father, his chest expanding and contracting faster the longer Spitelout remains impassive. Hiccup glances from Astrid to Toothless; it’s not their place to say anything, so he doesn’t, seeing Astrid do the same. Hiccup’s hand strays to Toothless’ head, finding some comfort in the smooth scales. Toothless shifts slightly closer, pushing his neck and shoulder against Hiccup’s side. Stormfly’s throat vibrates with a low-pitched chirr and Hookfang huffs out a breath.

Snotlout’s “Dad?” breaks the silence, cutting across the soft sound of the sea.

His father’s lips move. Through the thick blanketing silence in Snotlout’s ears, he hears his voice, harsh and brooking no argument. “Make yer friends leave.”

Snotlout feels his body turn to ice. He knows he’s in for it tonight. He can’t look at his dad’s face anymore. His friends are right there, right _there_. He could run to them. He could cling to Hookfang’s neck and fly away. His chest aches for Hiccup’s kind smile, aches for the warmth of his skinny arm around Snotlout’s shoulder and his soft voice telling Snotlout he didn’t let them down. But his da says that kindness is a lie. He says Snotlout’s a disappointment…  and his da knows everything. Snotlout aches to jump on Hookfang and never look back, never again see his father’s look of disappointment or hear him say there’s no such thing as real friendship, only ambition to get ahead. And to be told that anyone who says otherwise is trying to destroy you.

He’s a free Viking. He could turn around and leave his father behind, jump on Hookfang and never look back. Get himself disowned. Disown his father! He could renounce his name, refuse to be a Jorgenson.

He swallows and it hurts. He can do none of it. He’s always belonged to his father. And he’s never been free.

“Make yer friends leave,” Spitelout repeats through clenched teeth, “or don’t. It’ll only be the worse for you. It’d be no trouble givin’ you yer due in front of your cousin and the girl.”

Cold pours down Snotlout’s back and stomach as he trots back to Hiccup and Astrid. He hasn’t realized he’s moved until he’s already close to Hookfang. Hookfang takes a step toward him and head-butts him. The warm, firm touch feels somehow alien, far away and unreal. He side-steps Hookfang and looks away. “Not now.” To his human friends, he says, “Dad wants to talk. Uh, to me. Just me and him. Can you guys go back ho-- uh, to the Edge?” He’s surprised how normal he can make his voice sound with the surface of his skin curling up and freezing. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Sure,” says Astrid uncertainly. “But we can wait…”

“No! No, it’s…” His voice is getting a little high-pitched and he clears his throat, forcing himself to sound normal. “This is private, you know. Family stuff.” He’s missed the mark and his voice is definitely too deep. They both notice, but don’t say anything.

“You sure?” Hiccup’s face is tight. Next to him, Toothless rumbles, while Stormfly rattles her spikes. “What about Hookfang?”

As the others look at Hookfang, Snotlout makes shooing motions, tilting his head towards the dragon but unable to meet his eyes. “Take Hookfang, he hasn’t eaten all day.”

Hookfang growls and narrows his eyes. _I’m staying._

“No, no you can’t stay here. Listen, Fangster...” Snotlout reaches up to his friend’s great snout, wrapping one arm around his sinuous neck and stroking his chin with his other hand. “I need you to go.” He stands on tiptoe to whisper into the dragon’s ear. “Promise me,” Hookfang grudgingly tilts his head down to allow Snotlout easier access, “that you won’t come back for me till morning.”

Hookfang shifts from foot to foot and settles a little more firmly into the sand. _Why should I?_

“I… I can’t…” Snotlout looks round with quick, darting glances. “I can’t… It’s a human thing, Hookfang. I gotta do this.” His eyes are wide and his voice wavers like he’s about to cry. “Please go, Hookfang, please. Please, promise me.” Thank gods he’s not talking loud enough for Hiccup and Astrid to hear.

Hookfang doesn’t look too convinced. “Hooky,” Snotlout whispers urgently, “you’ll just make things worse if you stay. It’ll be okay. Just go eat and come back at first light, okay? You can come at first light. I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen.” He wants to believe that, but a stone settles in his gut. He knows that he’s lying to his best friend. Snotlout rises to his feet, looking worriedly over at the impassive figure in the shape of his father standing at the end of the beach. “Please just go with them, okay? Please? For me?”

The other dragons chirr and murmur as Hookfang kneads the sand with his claws and turns narrowed eyes on Snotlout. _If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather stay…_

“Hookfang _please,_ I’m begging you, get _out_ of here.” Snotlout looks up at Hiccup and Astrid, nodding to their dragons. “See, I’m telling them to go as well. My dad and I are going to have a private talk. I just want some privacy! I know you can hear from two or three miles away, you’ll be able to hear us from anywhere on the island. You gotta go back to the Edge so we can have our space.”

The dragon just looks at him with half-lidded eyes, smoke coming out of his nostrils. His tail is flicking back and forth.

Snotlout blinks suddenly and turns from Hookfang to the others. “Guys, give us a minute?”

Humans and dragons exchange glances, then head for the rock face overlooking the beach. When the quartet is far enough away, Snotlout kneels to Hookfang. “Hookfang. Remember when we were fighting Ryker’s men last week?”

Hookfang grunts, pupils narrowing. Snotlout doesn’t blame him: it was one of their worst near-misses. Arrows flying, catapults firing, dodging and weaving: a normal day, except he and Hookfang were knocked out of the sky by a well-aimed bola. As they hurtled towards the water, Snotlout could see that the others, fighting for their lives under a hail of hunters’ arrows, wouldn’t make it to them in time. Snotlout still thanks whatever gods were listening that he thought to grab a good lungful of air before they hit the water.

Snotlout managed to clamber out of the saddle underwater and started cutting desperately through the bola binding the dragon’s wings tightly to his body. Belly-up, Hookfang sank, Snotlout clinging to the ropes even as he slashed at them with his dagger. Snotlout still recalls how the water darkened, can still feel the painfully sharp texture of the ropes under his hands, remembers his gratitude for their blacksmith leader’s diligence at sharpening everyone’s weapons _._ He still wakes shuddering, feeling the chill of the water and the desperate pumping of Hookfang’s heart under the hand Snotlout kept pressed to his chest. Recalls the thrill of relief as the ropes parted and Hookfang surged upwards, Snotlout in his claws.

Snotlout stands a little straighter. “Hookfang,” he says formally. “I hereby invoke your life debt.”

Hookfang shrieks and bursts into flame. Snotlout ignores the outburst. “You are bound to obey my command,” he intones, “in repayment for saving your life.”

Hookfang’s flame subsides. He circles around himself as if chasing his own tail, winding round and round Snotlout in a long, frantic loop. Panting, he comes to a halt, staring at Snotlout pleadingly. _Don’t do this to me. Please don’t make me._

Snotlout has no sympathy. He can’t afford it, not with his father standing at the other end of the beach, silent and probably getting tired of waiting. “You know you must do as I say,” he rasps. He clears his throat and speaks a little louder. Perhaps his dad will hear how well he’s able to control his dragon.  “I command you to return to the Edge and only return at first light.”

The heartbreak in the dragon’s eyes would sway Snotlout any day of the week. Any other day but today. Snotlout drops the formality, coaxing now he’s got his way. “Go on, Hooky.” He gives Hookfang a gentle shove. “Go back to the Edge, get something to eat, catch some Z’s, be back for me in the morning. Okay? Huh?”

Hookfang takes a step back, then another, and bursts into flame. A Nightmare’s eyes aren’t as human-equivalent as many other dragons’, but Snotlout’s always found them plenty expressive. Right now, Hookfang’s are saying _You better not give me reason to regret this._

“First light, Hookfang.” Snotlout lets his voice soften. “It’ll be okay.”

Hookfang growls. _It better be._

“Hiccup! Astrid!” Snotlout calls. The others approach, the dragons looking at them far too knowingly. He doesn’t care what they think; he just wants them gone. “Take Hookfang with you to the Edge.”

There must have been something in his voice, because the humans and dragons don’t answer: they just nod at him, Hiccup trying valiantly for an encouraging smile, then mount up and fly away. Hookfang’s gaze lingers before he, too, is gone.

* * *

 

Snotlout stands looking into the distance until they’re out of sight. Then he trudges over to his father, who has not budged from his spot. He tries to breathe, but his lungs seem made of lead.

“Took you long enough to get rid of that dragon,” Spitelout says conversationally.

Snotlout finds his knees are weak. “He’s j-just... kinda protective.”

“Protective. Wonder what he thought you needed protection from. Unless it’s the consequences of your own actions.”

Snotlout stares at his father, a sick lump in his stomach, not sure what he _can_ say.

“You don’t seem able to control him,” Spitelout remarks, as if they’re sitting by the fire at home drinking cider, as if they’re not out here for reasons they both know all too well. As if Snotlout isn’t about to be sick from fear. “You know your problem?” he goes on, tone still unnervingly light. “You think the dragons are people. You and that cousin of yours. Dragons are useful, o’ course. Great beasts of burden, far better than horses or yaks. And I won’t deny sometimes when one of them looks you in the eye, you fool yerself into thinking there’s intelligence there. That they have _feelings._ I was almost deluded once or twice meself. But it doesn’t have higher thinking like a human. Only a fool would fall for that.”

 _It._ Snotlout chokes.

“I know yer thinking of your Monstrous Nightmare. Take it from your old man: it can’t feel. And all the soft-hearted talk in the world won’t change that. That Hookfang? It’s a thing, like a mace or a sword. Just a _thing_.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Snotlout knows he needs to stay still. Back straight, chin  up, eyes front, mouth shut. Anything else would be disrespectful. Staying still is safe. For now. Staying still means that his father’s lesson is sinking in. If Spitelout thinks that, the punishment won’t be as bad later on. He swallows, trying to straighten a little more, but he can’t get any taller.

Snotlout aches to defend Hookfang. But he’s a coward. He can’t say ‘no’ to his father to save his life. He’s going to let his friend be thought of as a thing, _like a mace or a sword,_ because he can’t bear to be punished more than he’s already brought on himself. More than what he’s earned. But, hearing Hookfang called a thing and unable to protest, it’s as though he’s never known pain before this moment.

He lets the head of the ceremonial axe drop to the sand, supporting himself on the handle with both hands like a walking-stick. He really is the weakling |Spitelout never wanted him to be. The weakling his father tried so hard not to raise.

Then his father swipes the axe from his hands, and he staggers forward, taking a few steps so he won’t fall into Spitelout. He swallows as his fear blots out everything else around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Spitelout snatches the priceless ceremonial axe from his son’s negligent hands before he can damage it, sending Snotlout stumbling. He should have known better than to trust the boy with anything so important. He lays it carefully on a flat rock for later retrieval, then turns his attention to the matter at hand.

“You disappoint me.” The words drop from Spitelout like stones as he stalks towards his son. “I wanted to be proud in front of the clan chiefs.” He’s boiling with rage. No, not boiling – _seething_. All the resentment at his son’s pretensions, all the times he’s been itching to put Snotlout in his place since he pranced off to play grown-up with the other spoiled brats, solidify in this final act of utter irresponsibility. Snotlout is within reach now.

“Undress.”

Snotlout lowers his hands to his privates. “E-everything?”

“Not your smallclothes, don’t be disgusting,” he spits. Is the whelp deliberately trying to annoy him? “Everything else.”

Spitelout stands back, arms folded, watching Snotlout take off his ridiculous getup. Didn’t even think of dressing smartly for the wedding. It’s like he was _trying_ to humiliate the Jorgenson name. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget,” he mutters; no, _promises_. Snotlout strips clumsily, fumbling with his belt buckle, hands shaking as he removes his boots and peels off his leggings. And well may he tremble, with what’s coming to him.

“I’m sorry.” Snotlout’s voice is muffled in the tunic he’s pulling off. His head slips out of the neck-opening. Finally, he stands in nothing but the slip of a garment covering his rear and his privates. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You should be,” Spitelout looks at the sorry spectacle, “and you will be. Extremely.” He jerks his head toward the bushes. “Go and relieve yourself.”

Snotlout scurries away, bare feet leaving imprints on the sand. Such a pathetic sight. Couldn’t he have done better? All he had to do was obey. Then Spitelout would be congratulating him and cheering his name in a joyful battle-cry, not having him empty his bladder in preparation for being punished.

Eventually, the miscreant returns. “Put your belt back on,” Spitelout says to his son. Snotlout picks up the belt and buckles it around his bare torso as Spitelout watches impassively. The thick, broad leather will protect the boy’s lower back and stomach, allowing Spitelout to lay the strokes on without fear of striking a potentially fatal blow. His son doesn’t understand how much his father loves him, how careful Spitelout is of his welfare. Just another way in which Snotlout doesn’t appreciate his father. That pack of wild beasts he runs around with would never think to protect him like this—wild beasts headed by the son of a Chief, no less. If Hiccup were his, Spitelout’s, son, things would be different. He could have raised that boy _right_.

He takes a deep breath, starting to pace around Snotlout. Snotlout shivers, standing all but naked in the biting night air. Spitelout can see the gooseflesh rising on Snotlout’s arms. “Cold, are you? This is what comes of running around after those _friends_ of yours,” Spitelout hisses. “Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up soon enough. Should’ve known you were  nothing but a child, even if you think you’re a man.” He pauses in front of Snotlout, and gives his pale face a little smack, not hard. Snotlout flinches hard. “You like your friends, do you? Feel like a big man among them?” Spitelout inflates his chest, drawing himself up. “Pathetic.” He looks his half-naked offspring up and down, sneering at the sorry sight. To add insult to injury, the boy’s grown up short and squat. Never did get a proper Viking physique. He looks even smaller now as he shrinks into himself in fear. For a while, he seemed like someone Spitelout would be able to point out and crow, ‘That’s my son!’ But after tonight… “Yer lucky I don’t disown you, boyo.”

Snotlout doesn’t dare move a muscle as Spitelout circles him. He knows the drill: chin up, eyes down. “Think you’re so important now, living on, what is it, _Dragon’s Edge.”_ Spitelout lets his resentment out in a huff. “Glorified treehouse if you ask me. Thought you’d flown the nest, did you? All grown-up and independent? Big man now because you’ve a few hairs on your chin?” He presses two hard fingers under Snotlout’s chin and flicks them up, making Snotlout’s head snap back for a moment. Snotlout clenches his jaw and settles back to where he was. Spitelout flings out his hand, ignoring the way that his son flinches at the movement, “Surrounded by your ‘ _friends_ ’ who tell you to bite the hand that feeds ye? Faugh!” He spits on the ground. The boy starts, but he pays it no mind. “Friends, indeed” he sneers. “Children. Playing at being Vikings. And now it’s come to this, disappointing me. Disappointing your _family_. Think you’re superior to your elders and betters, do ye?”

The boy’s eyes are glazed. He’s not even looking at him. How much disrespect can this boy possess? “You struck dumb, boyo? ANSWER ME!”

Snotlout starts at the shout, cringing. “I’m sorry, Dad?” he offers.

“You weren’t listening,” Spitelout hisses into Snotlout’s ear. Snotlout shrinks back as though repulsed, sending rage spiking through Spitelout. He wants so badly to lash out, to start punishing the boy without any preparations, but he’s better than that. He clenches his fists at his sides, shaking with the effort of holding back. “What’s the matter, boy? Disgusted by yer own father?”

“No! No, Dad, I’m sorry...” Snotlout straightens again, holding himself stiff. He’s unconvincing, at best.

“I think different,” Spitelout sneers, barely above a whisper. “I think you have placed your friends above your family. I think you’ve grown so invested in this little treehouse fantasy I’ve let you play in with your friends that you’ve deluded yourself into believing you _amount_ to anything outside the Jorgenson family tree.”

“No! No, Dad, I haven’t, I swear I haven’t!”

_“I swear I haven’t,”_ Spitelout mimics in a high-pitched squeak, half-blind with fury. “Your actions say otherwise. You didn’t just neglect your family obligations – you _spat_ on them! You dragged the Jorgenson name through the mud!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Snotlout is shaking already. From the cold, or from fear, it doesn’t matter. It’s disgraceful to be showing _anything_ in this situation. Spitelout takes a sharp breath in through his nose, frown deepening on his face. Where did he go wrong?

“No you’re not, you disloyal, miserable whelp. But you will be.” Spitelout keeps pacing. He doesn’t shout: his disappointment has had time to settle into cold rage. “I told the Hoffersons, I told the assembled clan chiefs, ‘Snotlout, my son, my pride and joy, my only _son_ , will be here on dragon-back!’ I kept looking up into the sky, waiting for you to come. I was sure your stupid, idiot games wouldn’t make a mess of something this big, this _important_. Not this time.” The last part comes out a whisper, like a stalking snake.

Snotlout stands there, still shaking. “But you didn’t come. The patriarchs of great families were all there! If you had been _planning_ to publicly humiliate me, you couldnae have done it better!”

Still the boy stands, dumb as a post. “They laughed at me,” Spitelout says, low and dangerous. The words drop like stones into the silent air around them.“They _laughed at me_ and then they got angry, because the wedding was ruined. You think your father deserves to be mocked, boyo? Is that how little you think, how little you _care_ , for the one who gave you life? This is how you repay me, by turning me into a _joke?”_

“No, D-dad…”

“The wedding was ruined, Snotlout. They had to arrange another date. And the shame was on _me_ . The wedding was _ruined_ because the heir of the Jorgenson clan was too busy with his own _stupid_ friends and his own _stupid_ dragon and his own _stupid_ foolery to think of anyone but his own _stupid_ self!”

Wide blue eyes stare dumbly at Spitelout, mouth moving without making a sound. He waits for Snotlout to say something, anything, in his own defence. Spitelout isn’t completely heartless, he’ll give the boy a chance to defend himself. But the boy stays silent, mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish. Spitelout is just about out of patience with this whelp. “Well? Do you have an excuse? Burnt cookies? Fighting invaders? Saving the world, maybe?” Who knows, if there really was some battle or attack, he might even forgive the boy. Duty calls and all that.

The idiot _shakes his head,_ eyes glazed and staring, mouth finally closed.

Spitelout’s hand shoots out and grabs Snotlout by the hair on the back of his head. The boy cries out, then clamps his mouth shut. “How could you? How could you do this to everybody? You’ve always been selfish and irresponsible, but this takes the fucking cake!” He shakes Snotlout, drawing another whimper. “Keep yer blasted mouth shut!” He gives the boy a good shake for emphasis. “I’ll have you crying all night, don’t be so eager to get started!” There’s fire in his veins, boiling under his skin, and every sound that falls out of Snotlout’s mouth is only making him angrier.

Snotlout blinks up at Spitelout, his hair still clutched in Spitelout’s grip. Spitelout gives a couple more shakes, his fingers starting to ache from how tightly he’s holding onto Snotlout’s hair. Snotlout blinks at him, trying to muffle the noises escaping him. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers.

“You’re _sorry.”_ Spitelout finds his voice is smooth. He feels… incredulous. “And you think _sorry_ will fix everything.”

“No, Dad I…”

“You made me a LAUGHINGSTOCK!” Spitelout bursts out, giving the boy an extra shake. He pulls Snotlout close, so he can understand. “You made your CLAN a laughingstock! You SPAT on the Jorgenson name today! How did you even dare? Did you think it was a joke? Because, believe me,” Spitelout lets his anger slide into his low promise, leaning just that much closer, Snotlout cringing away from him, “I will show you that it isn’t.”

* * *

Hookfang flaps his massive wings in a strong downbeat, then glides. The night air swirls softly around him. The other dragons are silent. He should be looking forward to fish and sleep on the Edge, but all he can think of is how pale Snotlout looked as he told him to leave, the way the human’s small heart beat fast and scared.

Hookfang’s anger at his partner’s shameless exploitation of the life debt lasted for twenty, perhaps thirty, wingbeats. To tell the truth, he never even knew Snotlout _thought_ of it as a life debt. They’ve saved each other’s lives so many times that it’s almost impossible to track who owes whom now. And Hookfang knows perfectly well that Snotlout would never, ever have invoked this most sacred of dragon obligations if he hadn’t been desperate for a way to get Hookfang out of the picture.

Hiccup gives him a friendly glance. “Doing okay, Hookfang?”

Hookfang rumbles. _Of course. Everything’s fine._ Toothless makes a sound, but Hookfang ignores him.

_It’ll be okay, Hookfang,_ said Snotlout.

Hookfang shakes his head as he glides along, marring the arrow-straight line of his flight path. He can’t shake the feeling in his gut that Snotlout was lying.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Spitelout lets go of Snotlout’s hair. The boy flinches and takes a half-step back before he catches himself. Spitelout steps forward to close the distance, making sure to be at his full height over the boy. “This is what comes of being too independent. Those other brats have made you forget who gave you everything. Who made you what you are. Where you get your strength, who taught you to fight, who supported you when your friends were babes in arms. You’ve grown too big for yer boots, boyo.”

Spitelout smacks Snotlout on the side of the head – a tap, not a blow at all, but Snotlout is so tightly wound that he jumps at the touch. “Frightened? Good. You should be.” The boy subsides, eyes following Spitelout’s hand fearfully. Spitelout circles him again. “I’m going to remind you of everything you seem to forget.”

He steps back. The time for words is over. “Get me my satchel.”

Snotlout scurries behind him and appears an instant later in front of him, eyes fixed on the ground, holding the leather pouch out at arm’s length. Spitelout takes it, almost amused at the way the boy stands at a safe distance, out of range of a slap. Well-trained, that boy. Too bad the training didn’t kick in when it mattered.

Spitelout draws the Iron Root from his satchel. It’s a shadow against the skin of Spitelout’s hands. He looks at it with something like reverence. ”I brought this just in case.” His gaze snaps to Snotlout, and he lets his tone grow firmer. “I didn’t want to bring it, but I was sure, somehow, _you_ ,” he points the root at his son, “would give me occasion to use it.”

Snotlout’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “Dad,” he whispers. His eyes are fixed on the Root with terror.

The Iron Root is a formidable tool. It was passed down to Spitelout from his father, who bought it from Trader Johann’s predecessor, who said he bought it from the nomadic tribes who lived in the snowy wastelands at the edge of the earth. Black as coal and supple as leather, it looks and flexes like a tree root, but sinks in water like lead. None have seen the tree from which it was cut. As a lad, Spitelout screamed himself raw under its lashes until his father graduated to easier methods of marking him. The Root is not as intimidating as many clan whips – it’s only as thick as a man’s finger and a time and a half as long as a man’s arm. But once, Spitelout swung it at a shield with all his strength, just to see what it would do, and it left a dent in the iron. That was the day he started calling it the Iron Root.

He tosses the satchel to Snotlout. “Get the rope out.”

Still staring, Snotlout fumbles in the outermost pocket. “Not _that_ one, idiot!” roars Spitelout, taking some satisfaction in seeing the boy jump. “The center pocket! Are you stupid?” Snotlout fumbles around for what seems like ages before he pulls out a coil of rope. “Over that branch.” He nods toward a gnarled, ancient tree, its solid trunk strongly rooted in the sandy beach. Bare branches twist out over both their heads, black silhouettes against the velvety sky.

Spitelout stands impassive, watching the rapid rise and fall of his son’s chest as he makes for the sturdy limb Spitelout’s indicated. It’s not even that high, perhaps high enough to brush the top of Spitelout’s head, but it’s well out of reach of the full stretch of Snotlout’s upraised arms. He remembers what Spitelout’s taught him, though, tying the end of the rope to a fist-sized rock for force and flinging it over the branch. “You’re efficient,” he remarks. “If you’d just obeyed earlier…” He sighs. “Don’t you know the consequences of your disobedience?” Spitelout asks curiously. “If you didn’t want punishment, all you had to do was perform your task.” His lip curls. “I know your abilities are limited, but this wasn’t even a hard task.”

“I—I didn’t mean it.” The useless boy ties a slipknot in the rope without being told, looking as though he’s going to be sick. Good.

“At least that’s one thing you remember how to do properly.” Spitelout feels his lip curl. “You ought to, the number of times you’ve had to be punished.” He steps close to the boy. “Hands.”

Snotlout places his hands through the loop in the rope where it’s hanging over the tree-branch. Spitelout yanks down on the other end, pulling the boy’s arms upward, fully extended over his head, then secures it to a strong tree-root. Snotlout holds himself stiffly, big eyes staring at Spitelout. To see him, you’d think he was five years old: as scared, and certainly as irresponsible. Spitelout could swear his eyes were asking for mercy.

He’d laugh, only it’s not funny.

Spitelout steps back, contemplating the boy thoughtfully. Over the years, he’s come to take a keen pleasure in seeing a difficult child’s misbehavior painted on his hide, a visible reminder of what they did wrong. If Snotlout lets him down, Snotlout’s hide changes color to match. Disobedience, disrespect, laziness, all those have their colors: pink and red and deeper red, deeper than blood. But this offense is unforgivable. What Snotlout has done isn’t going to take shape until he’s black and blue all over.

“Too bad for you you had to earn this,” he remarks, raising his arm.

* * *

Hookfang has been on fire since he arrived at the Edge. Toothless offered him fish, but it made him feel sick. He thought he’d fly off whatever has him so wound up, but it isn’t working.

He’s sick. There’s no other explanation. A dragon’s heartbeat is slow and measured, not  wild and uncontrolled like the pounding heart of a fragile human. So why is Hookfang’s heart slamming against the walls of his chest? What sort of illness could he be suffering from? Why is his head pushing outwards against his skull? He has never felt this way before. Well, maybe once, when his rider was torn from his back by a waterspout and he couldn’t find him. And when Snotlout is with his father, separated from Hookfang by the walls of his house, smelling of blood and pain and fear… those cracking sounds that mean fragile human flesh is being damaged… torn open...

He’d far, far rather hear those cracking sounds, painf— _unpleasant_ as they are to hear— than be here, safe and fed, while his— _not his not his no Fire-scale can belong to a human—_ while Snotlout is apart from him, and Hookfang doesn’t know what’s happening to him.

He flames and roars. Perhaps his fire will burn the sickness out of his system.


	4. Chapter 4

The Iron Root vibrates and whines as it cuts through the air, landing across Snotlout’s back with a piercing _thwick._ The flesh compresses, then bounces back into place. For an instant, there is a line of stark white, then twin welts leap up in the shape of the rod. They start out pale, darkening into brownish ridges, some blistering up as liquid gushes under the skin. Too light, still, far too light. This last irresponsible failure, the implicit act of defiance, calling his axe _stupid_ – all the acts of disloyalty since he moved to the Edge – needs deep purple, needs dark blue, needs bright red. Spitelout is not letting Snotlout go until he’s painted every last color of his wrongs on his skin.

Spitelout starts easy with a set of nine to the boy’s back. As each cut lands with a sharp _thwick,_ his headstrong boy twists and throws his head back and jumps up and down to try and cope with the pain. Spitelout doesn’t need to wonder: those cuts _hurt._ His memory of the excruciating bite is still fresh, even decades later. He can still taste the bitter cries he choked back all those years ago. He stands back and watches impassively as they start to color in, listening to Snotlout’s ragged gasps, catching his own breath and trying to clear the taste off his own tongue. “Save yer breath, boy,” he advises. “You’ll need your voice for what’s coming.” Snotlout makes half a noise of dismay, of protest, but catches himself.

Spitelout extends his arm fully and lays on another good set. Snotlout screams, but that’s understandable. He’s taxing the boy to his limit: these are not cuts that can be silently endured, these are the bad kind, where the rod wraps around your body and its tip bites into the tender skin of your side. Spitelout is not a cruel man. Forbidding the boy from crying out under wood or leather is expected of a Viking, but under the Iron Root? That would be cruel.

“You never think of the consequences for your actions,” Spitelout says thoughtfully, watching those consequences take shape in the form of double welts, some of them starting to swell satisfyingly. “You have to be taught,” he nods, pacing around his gasping and keening son, “to take responsibility for those consequences.” The muscles in his arms are burning.

He steps back and rolls his shoulders, easing the tightness he’s starting to feel. Then he swings the rod round in an arc to bury it into the puffy flesh. “Serious consequences. Remember, you brought this on yourself with your disobedience. I’m doing this because I love you. Because I care enough to correct you.” Spitelout lays on the lashes firmly, each layer of color giving him satisfaction. But Snotlout hasn’t been disciplined nearly enough. The only way to do that is through repeated application. The desired color starts to take shape when the cuts of the rod start to crisscross and overlap: a keenly satisfying blue starts to form under the skin, which splits in places and starts to offer the red its owner has earned. Snotlout cries out each time the Iron Root blisters his flesh, the cries degenerating into gasping groans as he writhes and jumps up and down, shaking his head and roaring like the beasts he spends his time with. “You seem to have decided where your loyalties lie,” Spitelout says as he lays on the stripes. “With your friends. Not with yer family that raised you. That gave everything so you could grow and thrive. No gratitude. No sense of responsibility.” He pauses, making sure that Snotlout is listening before he adds in a dark tone, “No loyalty.”

Spitelout has always made sure to drive it home to Snotlout what he’s done wrong. The boy doesn’t like it, of course, which is understandable – who enjoys their well-earned punishment? – but in the long run, Snotlout will thank him. If something doesn’t hurt, if it doesn’t throb in your very bones, how will you know you’ve done wrong? Pain is the only thing that keeps disobedient little bastards from dismissing the wrong they’ve done and going skipping off through fields of daisies. And this selfish, disloyal boy deserves every lash Spitelout is laying on.

For another two sets of nine, the Iron Root whines and sings as the boy screams. His face is wet, but he hasn’t sobbed, so it’s forgivable. For now. Finally, Spitelout has to pause. He’s breathing heavily and sweating like a pig, and his shoulder is aching. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can feel the pulse in his neck and in the throb of his shoulder. “You’d better be grateful I love you enough to look out for your welfare,” Spitelout tells the boy. “For the trouble I’m taking with you. For the pain I’m suffering every time I have to correct your mistakes.”

There’s no response. Ungrateful little— “Say something!” he bellows, whacking him again.

Snotlout yelps, an incoherent sound. “I’m sorry!” he blurts.

“Did I ask you to say _sorry?”_ Spitelout hisses. Will the boy never get _anything_ right? “I’m telling you to _appreciate_ that I have a backache because of you. Because of what you did TO ME earlier. I’m doing this because I love you. The _least_ you can do is say ‘thank you.’”

Snotlout swallows, but Spitelout can see his face twist, see how hard he’s trying to hold back some more of that unmanly crying he’s always been so good at. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I don’t WANT any more bleeding apologies!” Snotlout flinches at the yell in his ear, then cries out as Spitelout grabs the hair at the nape of his neck and yanks back. “I want gratitude! I want appreciation for me trouble!” Snotlout only cries. Does Spitelout have to spell it out? “Go on then, thank me!” He gives Snotlout a shake.

Snotlout tries to speak, but nothing comes out but an aggravating whine. Tears spill from the corners of his eyes and he chokes on a sob. “Th—thank you, Dad…” Snotlout’s barely able to get the words out for blubbering.

“You’ll get another set for crying, but that’s a good boy.” Spitelout lets go of Snotlout’s hair, and he slumps. “The trouble I take. You’re lucky I love you and care about you. I could correct you much easier, you know.” He rolls his stiff shoulders, pacing around the panting, whimpering boy. “Only when I was a very little lad was me own father so kind as to whip me. Soon enough he went straight for the brand. Didn’t tire him out, he said, and more memorable than a whippin’ any day. Just heated up the poker and laid it across me.” Snotlout shudders and whines. “But I wouldn’t do that to my own son. Dragon trappers started usin’ brands not long after you were born. It became a mark of shame, of humiliation. A brand is a mark of shame, but whipping scars are the mark of a man.” He steps back. “Even if it is tiring, I won’t let any son of mine wear a brand. I work hard for you, Snotlout, because I love you. Remember that.” Snotlout sniffles and nods. Good. He’s starting to get it.

Spitelout takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. “Now here’s your set for crying.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hookfang is wandering the island, bursting into flame. He’s been pacing up and down the beach without rest since they got back to the Edge. Toothless looks down from the deck outside their hut, and croons to Hiccup.

“I know, bud,” Hiccup breathes, staring down at the flaming Nightmare pacing the beach. He looks pensive, but his muscles are strained. “I know.”

Toothless knows that Hiccup _does_ know. His rider goes where most others don’t. He lacks draconic senses but uses stealth and silence to see what a dragon could detect by scent and hearing alone. Toothless has heard shouting and crying from inside the Jorgenson hut, and has smelled pain and iron and blood. Hiccup has not heard it and lacks the capacity to scent it, but he’s seen Snotlout crying when he thinks no-one is there, has noticed him limping when he thinks no-one can see, has seen the color drain from his face and the way he snaps to attention when his father speaks – has seen the nervous pleasure he takes in his dad’s company and the almost manic joy when Spitelout says he’s proud. Hiccup sees more than he lets on, and Toothless sees what he sees, the shadow at his side.

And Spitelout has told Snotlout he needs to talk to him. Alone. The other riders may think Spitelout is just going to chew his ear off, as the humans like to say, but Hiccup knows. And so do the dragons.

Including Hookfang. Toothless looks down at him again, and his gut twists. If it was his Hiccup over there… being humiliated and hurt… Toothless does not know how he could endure it. He nuzzles his human and croons urgently.

Hiccup kneels to embrace Toothless. “I’m here, bud. I’m okay. I’m okay.” Toothless covers him with gentle licks, head-butting him urgently. Hiccup squeezes his neck and strokes his head until they are both soothed, then straightens. “Guess it’s about time we did something. C’mon.”

Hiccup hooks his foot into the stirrup and they sail the few hundred yards down to the beach, landing silently in front of the agitated Nightmare. He rears up, flaming, and roars.

At once, Hiccup has a soft hand on Toothless’ snout, keeping him from snarling right back at Hookfang. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s just us.” Hiccup steps away from Toothless and faces Hookfang, holding his hands out in the human gesture of _no-threat_. He gives the moment its due, not rushing. This is why most dragons appreciate Toothless’ rider. He’s one of the few humans who don’t rush things. A human who doesn’t think he can order a dragon around. A human who knows he can’t.

Toothless’ admiration increases when, having indicated he isn’t a threat, Hiccup breaks eye contact and looks out over the sea, not pressuring Hookfang or acting like a predator by staring at him, just being there and giving him the choice to trust. Toothless’ heart swells to bursting. He wants to nuzzle Hiccup and praise him and love him, but there are more important matters right now.

After a few moments of looking out over the sea, Hiccup ventures, “If it were Toothless out there, I’d want to go to him.”

 _I know you want to be with him,_ Toothless croons. I _feel for you._

But it’s a bad move. Hookfang bursts into flame and whirls, blasting and roaring in a threat display as if _Toothless_ is the aggressor, as if he has been the one causing Hookfang all this pain. _Me?_ he roars. _Want to go to him? You think I’m some kind of sentimental mess like you, you tame, toothless – might as well call yourself Spineless—_

That’s it. Toothless has more patience than other dragons, but he can only allow so many insults before he snaps. After all, he has his pride. He roars, flapping his wings and rearing up. _I’ve just about had it with being insulted, when any idiot can see you’re frantic about your rider—_

 _FRANTIC??? ME??? He’s hanging out with his dad._ Hookfang uses the human phrase; it sounds odd on his tongue. _To hear you talk you’d think—_

Toothless folds his wings and drops. _Stop, Fire-Scale. We know. We all know._

 _You don’t!_ Hookfang roars, another display of dominance. He falters when Toothless doesn’t respond. _You don’t_ , Hookfang repeats, flame snuffing out. _You can’t._

Toothless remains silent. Finally, Hookfang folds his wings. He lands on his haunches and stares. _How?_

“Hey… everything okay? You guys need anything?”

Toothless gently nudges Hiccup aside, looking into his eyes. _Let me talk some sense into him, then you go in for the second round._

Hiccup trustingly gives them space, letting him approach Hookfang. _What’s with you, Hookfang?_ says Toothless, not unkindly, but firmly. _Of course we know: we can see it and smell it. Just because we don’t speak of it out of respect to you and your rider doesn’t mean you get to pull this posturing crap with us!_ He gives it a moment to sink in. _Of course you’re worried about Snotlout. If it was Hiccup out there? I would be beside myself._

Hookfang curls up mulishly. I _don’t do ‘beside myself,’_ he mutters. _Snotlout’s a grown man. A Viking. He can take care of himself._

 _Snotlout can’t take care of himself if it means striking or fleeing his own sire_ , says Toothless reasonably _. Humans are not Razorwhips or Scauldrons. Their culture does not permit them to attack their kin, especially not their dams or sires. Sure, Snotlout can take care of himself if he’s being attacked by dragon trappers, or by hostile wild dragons—_

 _Not even then,_ Hookfang snorts ruefully. _He rushes in without planning angles of attack._

_Hmm. I wonder who he gets that from?_

Hookfang huffs out flame, a plume of rueful amusement. _Yeah._

Toothless waits.

Hookfang looks out over the ocean. _Is this what it’s like to be bonded?_

_Probably._

The Fire-Scale bursts into flame, still looking out over the ocean. _I don’t like it. It hurts._

 _Occupational hazard,_ Toothless nods, not without sympathy.

Hookfang flames higher. I _am_ **_not_ ** _bonded!_

_If you say so._

He roars. _Don’t patronize me!_

“Everything okay?” Hiccup says worriedly.

 _Yes,_ Toothless croons. _Be patient, Hiccup._

“Okay, bud, I’m here if you guys need me.”

_See? That’s another thing. How can you be bonded with someone who doesn’t understand you?_

Toothless doesn’t deny it, doesn’t challenge. _It’s hard. But you end up understanding a lot. Your partner does, too._

Hookfang’s flame dies down. His articulated wings collapse into his body and his neck droops. _He is not my partner,_ he mutters. _It is convenient to have him around. He… he brings fish._

Toothless waits.

 _It makes no sense to call him partner. He’s just a human. I’m a proud Fire-Scale. He should mean nothing to me. Nothing,_ he reiterates, flaming for an instant before cutting off.

 _You’re right,_ Toothless says smoothly. _Humans are ten a penny. So what if he’s screaming right now._

Hookfang suppresses a flinch, still silently facing the water. His tail lashes from side to side.

Toothless continues, relentless. _So what if he dies? So what if his sire beats him so badly that he can never fly again? There’s plenty more humans where he came from._

Hookfang cries out, as if in pain. Toothless waits, looking respectfully away.

Still facing out to sea, Hookfang lets out a rumbling breath. _I don’t want that._

It’s all Hookfang will concede, but for Hookfang, it’s enough. Toothless nudges Hiccup with his hip. _Over to you, Human-Queen._

“Hey, Hookfang, it’s getting late,” Hiccup says, walking over to Hookfang with that swinging gait Toothless knows means he’s trying too hard to be casual. His attempt isn’t fooling anyone, but luckily Hookfang’s too distraught to notice. _(Yeah, yeah,_ Toothless catches himself, _he’s a big bad Fire-Scale, he doesn’t do ‘distraught.’ Just kill me now.)_ “Why don’t you swing by and see if Snotlout wants to come home?”

Toothless cringes at the desperation in Hookfang’s eyes as he turns to face Hiccup, tail lashing. _Life debt vow. I told him I wouldn’t come._

Hiccup folds his arms, drumming his fingers thoughtfully. “He probably made you promise or something dumb only Snotlout would do.”

A nod and a puff of flame confirm it. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go check on Snotlout. If he gives you any trouble, tell him I commanded you, in my – in my capacity as, uh, the Leader of Dragon’s Edge and Human-Queen,” Toothless never thought he’d see the day Hiccup would voluntarily claim that title, “to go and bring him back.”

 _And I, as your Queen,_ Toothless says softly, _command you._

Hookfang’s eyes widen in something like awe. His gaze swivels to the horizon and then back to his Human-Alpha and his Queen, then back out to sea.

 _Go,_ says Toothless _. Queen’s command can supersede a life debt. If you let it._

Hookfang exhales softly, eyes and scent filled with gratitude. Hiccup nods. “Yeah. Go on, Hookfang.” Hiccup’s gazing out at the horizon too. “Bring him home.”

Hookfang nods back, taking off hard enough that he kicks up part of the beach.


	6. Chapter 6

Again: Graphic descriptions of violence. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

* * *

Spitelout stands back for a rest. He's just dealt out an exhausting three sets on the trot to Snotlout's thighs, back and front. The Iron Root had Snotlout shrieking, and his legs won't support him now, spasming and jerking as he hangs from the ropes holding him up, toes brushing limply against the ground. Even Spitelout can admit that this last set was pretty harsh. He's known from the start that Snotlout had earned such a severe punishment that he would have to be beaten all over, which is why he tied him the way he did.

Taking a deep breath, Spitelout moves closer to Snotlout, facing him. He's shaking and sweating and groaning almost continuously now. "How're ye feeling, son?" he asks quietly. "Sorry yet?"

"Y…" Snotlout's voice cracks into a thin whine, and he has to start over. "Yes." He squeezes his face shut to bite back tears. "I'm s—sorry."

"Good, good. I only punish you because I care about you. I just want to be proud of you. You know that, don't you?" There's still part of him that's angry; he can feel the heat under his skin, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out to pet Snotlout's head. The boy flinches, but from surprise, not fear. Spitelout can tell.

"Y—Yes." For an instant, Snotlout leans into the touch. Then he slumps with a groan, breathing heavily. His head droops, leaning sideways against his raised arms.

"Only family loves you. Only  _family_  will love you enough to punish you. To make you do what's right. To correct you." He lets his hand fall to his side. "Remember that." Spitelout frowns when he realizes that Snotlout's not listening. "Do you hear me?!" Nothing. Not even a whimper. Are his eyes closed? "ANSWER ME!"

"Yes!" Snotlout's eyes fly open. "Yes, Dad! I hear you!"

Instant obedience. Good. Now, if only it could come  _before_  the punishment. "That's better." He nods. "Only family will tell you hard truths. Only family will tell you the things you don't want to hear. Take the trouble to give you good correction. I'm continuing the proud Jorgenson tradition of my father and his father before him." His chest swells with pride. It is a proud tradition, despite what an outsider would say. They don't understand.

Spitelout paces around Snotlout in a circle, assessing whether his wrongdoing has been sufficiently etched into his flesh. The constant shaking and groaning is satisfyingly indicative of a whipping well laid on. There's bright red blood, of course, but mostly white blisters, purple welts and black-and-blue bruises. The skin of his back and sides has filled with fluid and separated from the underlying flesh, puffed up like blown veal: Spitelout knows from experience that it will start peeling in a few days. The legs he's just worked on are well-painted with Snotlout's disloyalty, blue and purple with some red thrown in for good measure, his thighs no longer smooth muscle but ridged and rough.

He comes back to face Snotlout again, stopping in front of him. His head's lolling to the side, but his bleary eyes are trying to focus on Spitelout. Good to know he's directing his attention to what matters. "Are ye properly grateful?"

"Y—yes, Dad…" Snotlout's voice breaks and it reminds Spitelout of the very first time he gave Snotlout the Root. A wee thing, too proud and too pig-headed to listen to his da. Didn't think he had to. The first punishment is always the hardest. He feels a twinge of sympathy, only for a moment, in remembrance of the pain he felt when he knew that the Root was necessary.

Spitelout swallows heavily. "I know it's painful now, but the love of your family will stand you in good stead later. You'll fall back on these lessons when you have children of your own."

The boy's eyes flit away.

"Don't be stupid," Spitelout says. He shakes his head. Some Vikings, like Stoick, preach how they never need to resort to the rod. Look how his son turned out. And ruining Spitelout's own boy in the process. "Looks like you admire your cousin so much you decided to be just as headstrong and irresponsible as he. Caring only for your own pleasures. No inclination to give your effort to others, just like that selfish Hiccup. If he'd been given regular discipline from the start, he would have been much more useful to his family. To the clans, to Berk." He has to take a couple of deep breaths. "Do you understand?"

"Y…" Snotlout sounds as if he's going to say something rebellious, but thankfully the lesson seems to have taken hold. He appears to be choking back more tears. "Yes, Dad."

"Sparing the rod doesn't make sense, Snotlout. A child must be trained, broken in. Taught right from wrong. Same way we break in our mules, or how you control your dragon. Although you appear to have failed at that as well."

This pause has been the longest yet. Snotlout is visibly nervous now, eyes darting back and forth toward the Root still in Spitelout's hand, trying not to stare too long. Spitelout knows he's waiting for the whipping to start again, preparing himself. Good. It means he's listening. "The best time to impart values, son," Snotlout flinches, "is in the middle of a good thrashing. My own father taught me that." He draws back the rod and gives Snotlout a light stroke on his chest, not even hard enough to raise a welt. The boy jerks violently at the contact. "You see how much family loves you. I put a belt on you because I don't wish to damage you, only to correct you. Me own da never did. I whip you in private. Me da used to give it to me outdoors. In front of my friends." Bitter emotions bubble in his chest at the memories, his friends all staring and whispering. The other adults looking at him with sympathy. The bigger kids, laughing. His sister, face stained with tears of outrage and love, screaming at the stupid mocking teens and being batted away by their father an-No. No more of that.

He grits his teeth, gives his boy another stroke and steps back. It's a little redder than he anticipated, but much lighter than an intended lash. "Who loves you?"

"M—my family, Dad."

"Right you are. Turn around, Snotlout."

Obedience is good, even though Spitelout didn't really expect Snotlout to be able to fulfil the command in his current state. His legs scrabble at the sand, trying to find purchase; unable to do so, he grips the ropes over his head and tries to spin. Of course it's painful, and he whimpers and whines, only managing a quarter-turn. Spitelout magnanimously steps around the rest of the way: he understands what the boy is going through. No need to tax him beyond his limit.

Snotlout's back is a sight to behold. Spitelout feels a proprietary pride in the lashes laid on so perfectly parallel. He draws the tip of the Root down them, feeling the deep ridges in how the rod flexes in his hand. Snotlout inhales sharply, but stays still. "Are you going to let your family down again?"

"No," Snotlout's voice breaks, "Dad."

"Are you going to be disloyal and selfish again?"

"N—no, Dad." Snotlout chokes down a sob. Good thing, too. He knows the penalty for crying.

Spitelout continues his thoughtful inspection of his handiwork. The Iron Root moves round to the elongated blisters underneath the boy's raised arms, puffing up the pale skin over his ribs. He pokes at the biggest blister and it bursts, weeping clear fluid and drawing a shudder. Snotlout whines between clenched teeth. Spitelout knows it's excruciating: a fair punishment for an irresponsible, disloyal son who not only let the Jorgensons down, but humiliated his own father. He's earned this pain. "Do you know that you deserve this for letting down your family? For letting  _me_ down?"

"Yes," Snotlout whispers.

Spitelout's eyes narrow. "Say it."

"I—I let th… the family down."

"And?"

"A-and I let you," he whimpers, "I let you d-down, Dad."

"And?"

"I… I'm sorry, I…"

Spitelout grabs Snotlout's hair, at the nape of his neck, and yanks his head backwards. Snotlout's spine arches back and he shrieks, legs kicking out. "And you," he gives the boy a shake, "deserve what you got for your selfishness and disloyalty." Nothing. "Say it," he orders, voice low and dangerous. Still nothing. He's running out of patience. "SAY IT!" he roars, giving a harsh shake. Snotlout's legs flop around beneath him, toes brushing over the grass.

"I deserve it! I deserve it," Snotlout babbles.

"For?"

"For letting y—you down…" The boy swallows hard.

"Mind yer sniveling, boy. And for being…?" he prompts.

"For being…" Snotlout chokes, "Selfish. And—and disloyal."

"Good boy. Learning your lesson, I see." Spitelout lets go of his son's hair and he shudders and slumps. Spitelout takes a closer look at Snotlout's torso. While it's not advisable to whip the chest too hard (he rubs an absent hand over his own chest, over the scars always hidden by his clothing), Spitelout would really prefer Snotlout to remember his wrongdoing as he lies a-bed. "Right," he says decisively. "We're almost done here, I think. Just a few more."

Snotlout shakes his head weakly. "No…"

Spitelout stills.  _"What_ did you say?"

Hearing "no" from the creature you whelped, who has you to thank for their existence on this earth, thinking they're all independent now they've learned to walk and talk, well, that's just an offense. He recalls the first time Snotlout said "no" to him. He must have been three or four years old and Spitelout wanted something the child was playing with and, wonder of wonders, it said 'no'. Said it so big and bold, too, as though it had rights. He had shown the child the error of its ways, and he hadn't let up until his arrogant offspring had learned to fear the consequences of saying 'no' to the one who gave him life. The one who has  _kept_  him alive all these years.

Snotlout goes even paler. "I'm sorry!"

Spitelout leans in close to his stubborn, ungrateful son, feeling his voice drop into a dangerous register. "Did you just say  _no…_ to  _me?!"_

Snotlout cringes in his bonds, away from Spitelout. "I'm sorry! It just slipped out, I'm sorry!"

"Slipped out? You have no control over your own tongue, boy?" He turns away from Snotlout and takes a few paces towards the sea to calm the rage boiling beneath his skin. "In some clans, they still cut out injudicious tongues. Do you want to bring that on yourself?" He swivels back to his son. "Bad enough you humiliated me by not showing up in time… How am I supposed to trust you to represent us at other clans if you don't have control over your own tongue? How am I supposed to trust you at all?"

"No no no no no, Dad, I'm sorry! I meant, I didn't mean it, it just…" Snotlout swallows, biting his lip with the effort to hold back his weak tears. He had  _better_  stay strong. His face is a rictus and he's trembling.

But Spitelout is implacable. Whining will not excuse what the boy has done. "You said 'no' to _me_."

"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry…" Snotlout swallows, starting to snivel. Tears run down his face, mixing with the snot that's starting to drip from his nose. What a pathetic excuse for a Viking. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Spitelout leans in close. "Do. You. KNOW what your life would have been like if I'd said 'no' to you?" he hisses. "I gave you everything! Anything you wanted, I said yes. I gave you everything. I fed you, I clothed you, I trained you!" He shakes his head, unable to believe the whelp's ingratitude. "I  _made_  you! And this is how you repay me, you ungrateful little…"

"Dad, I don't mean it, it just hurts…"

"Of course it hurts! Whippings are to teach you respect, and respect is  _dearly bought,_ son. You're about to find out just how dearly." He narrows his eyes for a moment, thinking. Disrespect on top of disrespect… It's only fair to punish that with a whipping on top of a whipping. Spitelout positions himself behind Snotlout's blistered back. "I wasn't goin' to give you any more there. But  _this_ is for sayin' 'no' to your  _father."_

He inhales deeply and draws back his arm.

* * *

Hookfang's maybe two, three miles away when he hears it.

Snotlout is screaming.

He's unprepared for the panic clawing in his chest in response. Oh, sure, Hookfang's made him yell out many times, heard him scream in all sorts of situations– fooling around, combat– but the ragged edge to his voice…

Maybe it was a night-bird, Hookfang tries to tell himself. Maybe it was a dragon. Maybe it was anything, anything but what he's hearing . He's  _not_ hearing the reports of something cracking against flesh, maybe someone else is in torment, maybe literally  _anything_ but… but his rider being…  _No._ No, no, no.

No, because he will  _kill_  whoever is hurting him, because his fragile little human– _his Snotlout–_ cannot be screaming like this. He claws through the air, pumping his wings hard enough to feel it in his shoulders. No, no, no, no,  _no_.

* * *

Spitelout starts another set of nine. Snotlout shrieks with each lash, shuddering and groaning in the long moments between each stroke. Spitelout doesn't go easy on him: saying 'no' to the one who sired you, who cared for you and raised you, is the worst offense, and Snotlout knows this. He shudders at the mere thought of saying 'no' to his own father. Spitelout is more than happy to repay that disrespectful 'no' with some 'no's from the Iron Root that he'll hear loud and clear. "That's for saying 'no'," he says pointedly, then lays on an explosive whack across the fleshy part of his back. Blood rushes to the welt and the battered skin splits an instant later. Snotlout shrieks, beside himself. Spitelout feels righteous. Snotlout's suffering, Snotlout's penance, is perfect, proportional. Disobedience,  _disrespect_ , especially to one's father… Spitelout can think of few worse crimes against nature. "This," Spitelout follows up with another good hard lash that raises an instant blister, "is what happens," he moves to the other side and whips the Iron Root down hard, "when you say," two lashes in rapid succession, done in one breath, reducing the bound boy to hysterical writhing and jerking, " ** _no_**."

Completely off his head, the boy raises his chin and wails,  _"Hookfang!"_

* * *

Hookfang is maybe a mile away when he hears the ragged cry of his name echo over the water.

Snotlout  _never_  screams his name like that. Sure, he calls for Hookfang's help all the time. But his tone is always startled, angry, frustrated, petulant… annoyed. He's called Hookfang's name many times, in confrontation, or in play. The torment in Snotlout's broken wail this time bespeaks a terrible extremity, a cry for help from someone he knows isn't there. Snotlout believes that Hookfang is out of earshot, miles away on Dragon's Edge. Snotlout is crying out like doomed prey, alone and in agony, knowing help will never come, yet still crying out for the one he knows will never let him suffer.

Hookfang flares up without realizing he's doing it, not until he sees the orange reflection on the sea below him. He knifes through the air like a projectile, straining the muscles in his back and shoulders to  **go faster**. _I shouldn't have left him I shouldn't have left him I shouldn't have left him._  He roars as he arrows over the water, feeling the faint spray as the beating of his wings raises a plume of sea-mist in the backdraft, hearing the water that turns to steam from the heat of his flame.

_Hold on, hatchling. I'm coming._

* * *

Spitelout lays down one final, hard lash, ignoring the ravings spilling from his son's mouth. Snotlout is out of his mind with pain, babbling and hanging from his wrists like the spoils of a hunt. His back is well-whipped, red-raw and shiny, and punctuated by oozing gashes that overlay one another. Spitelout watches for a moment, profound satisfaction filling his chest at every repentant moan that leaves Snotlout's mouth. This is the price of saying 'no.'  _This_ is how a son should feel when he lets his family down. None of that silly pride or arrogance, just simple deference to his betters. Spitelout can see the lessons on Snotlout's skin. He hopes they sink in beneath it.

When mistakes are cut into flesh, paid for in pain and agony, they are far harder to forget. Spitelout's shoulders tense for a moment. Not from pain, from memory. His own da taught him that lesson well. Snotlout's visible pain means that he won't soon forget what he had to endure today, and  _why_. Spitelout grimaces. Arrogant little wretch. He dared to move away from the family seat, lured by illusions of independence from the home he was so generously raised in. A smirk breaks the corner of his mouth. It's a pleasure to watch his wilful, self-centered boy put in his place by the simple expedient of whipping the pride out of him.

* * *

The sounds of impact against human flesh echo over the sea into Hookfang's body, making his chest judder with each crack. Beneath the bitter lashes lies a steady drone of hard, pitiless words. In the middle is Snotlout's voice: Hookfang can no longer fool himself that the cries of agony are anything else. Each crack echoes with a shriek out of Snotlout, followed by broken sobbing that feels like bitter iron through Hookfang's chest. He can't breathe. By the Moon, Hookfang's the fiercest dragon alive but he'd give his very flight to comfort that sound; how can his partner's sire remain unmoved?

He squeezes a little more speed out of his wings. They'll be sore for days but he  _has to get to his partner. Now._


	7. Chapter 7

Again: Graphic descriptions of violence. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

* * *

When his son subsides, Spitelout unfolds his arms. "That was for saying 'no.' Now I'll finish your punishment for letting me down." He walks round to Snotlout's front and raises the Iron Root, eyeing where the first strokes will land on his chest.

"Dad…" the boy moans frantically, legs kicking under him. "Dad, please!"

Spitelout stops in his tracks, shocked and disappointed. He leans close to Snotlout's ear. "Begging?" he whispers. This is the boy he worked so hard to mold into an exemplary Viking? This is the boy he wanted to make into his proud heir? Yelling through the pain is one thing, but is this how his offspring repays him? This is his recompense for years of hard work and sacrifice? Reduced to pleas and tears by a little pain? Spitelout's tone hardens. "So it's come to this? Begging, Snotlout?"

"I'm sorry! I—I didn't mean it. It just slipped out! I'm sorry…" A stronger Viking would have swallowed the pain by now, would at least have tried to hide his weakness. If he's this sniveling with his own father, how would he deal with being tortured by enemies? They wouldn't be so kind.

"You made yourself into a whiny weakling…" Spitelout moves closer. "I thought you were better than this. I thought I had raised you better than this." He plants his feet apart and raises the Iron Root.

Snotlout's eyes follow its tip with terror. He's shaking. "Please, Da," he whimpers, then clamps his mouth shut in shock. "I—I didn't mean…"

Spitelout's shock is complete. "Please, Da'?" He clenches his fists. "'Please, **Da** '? At _your_ age?"

Snotlout is sobbing. Almighty Thor, sobbing. Like an infant. What a waste of all the times he tried to make a man of him. 'Please, Da.' Like he used to beg when he was still five _fucking_ years old. All the efforts to mold Snotlout into a man. Useless. What a waste.

Spitelout grimly starts thrashing Snotlout's sides, back, front, legs, anywhere he can land a lash, until Snotlout is wailing and writhing and blubbering like the disappointment Spitelout has always known him to be. He's not going to kill him, though. Snotlout is lucky that Spitelout has some fatherly affection for him left, or Spitelout wouldn't forgive what Snotlout has allowed himself to become. Spitelout prides himself on being firm – he's a Viking, a true Viking, of course he's firm – but fair. He's always punished Snotlout fairly, never giving him more than he's rightfully earned. Thor and Odin know, if Spitelout had had the misfortune to have Hiccup for a son, the irresponsible child would not have survived the punishments he'd have earned. Snotlout, though, is young and strong and stocky. He can survive healthy discipline. Back on Berk, he thrived on it. Was a much better son, never disobeyed, saw things for what they are. But now… This is what's come of that soft living on the Edge.

* * *

Almost there almost there  _almost there._

Explosive cracks roll off the ocean's surface. Snotlout's screams are amplified over the water, rolling off the island and into Hookfang's heart, piercing his chest like Nadder spikes. It wouldn't hurt if he turned away. It wouldn't hurt if he was as strong and powerful a dragon as he once thought he was.

 _Love is weakness. Fire-Scales do not know love, his sire's voice echoes in his head. We know only pride._  Hatchling Hookfang was berated and mocked mercilessly for showing love to his clutchmates, until any softness was rightly expelled from his heart. And it has worked, so far. Not loving means not hurting. He has always turned away from softness, turned away from love. Turned away from the jagged, piercing agony in his heart that he feels to hear Snotlout screaming.

It won't hurt if he turns away. All he has to do is close his ears and turn away.

But Snotlout wails, ragged and desolate, and Hookfang knows that it's far, far too late.

His rider is shrieking and sobbing. Each forlorn cry sets Hookfang's chest ringing with cold iron like a Viking sword impaling his heart, and he should turn away but instead opens to the pain, inviting it in. Human ears are weaker than dragons' and he knows Snotlout won't hear him but he screams back across the water anyway. He can hear the mocking laugh of his sire echo in his head. Hookfang snarls. He isn't a hatchling anymore. His sire doesn't control him anymore.

 _Hold on, partner. I'm coming for you._  He pumps his wings, closing the distance, his dearest human's cries of anguish tearing a hole in his chest. _I'm coming, little brother, I'm coming. Wait for me. Hold on. Please, please just hold on._

It wouldn't hurt if he could turn away.

* * *

Spitelout finally lowers the rod. He waits until Snotlout's sobs and groans subside. It takes a while. Finally, he's subsided into moaning breaths. "Are you listening, son?"

A whimper comes from the bound boy.

"Good. Here's what I'm going to do." He takes a step back and swings his arms, stretching them to prevent any soreness. "I'm goin' to take you on a visit to each chief of the nine clans with whom you dishonored the Jorgenson name. You'll stand before each one of 'em, all bare as you are now, and tell 'em how sorry you are. Ask them if they think you've been punished enough. If they say no, you can ask 'em nicely to take a whack at you."

The teenager staggers in his bonds. A few moments pass for him to process the threat. "Dad… you can't!"

Finally, finally, just a few hundred feet left. The misery in Snotlout's terrified cry makes Hookfang screech to the heavens. Just a little longer, little brother, hang on, almost there almost there just hang on…

"Oh, can't I just." Spitelout probably won't do it, but the terror of public humiliation is one way to drive home the need to never ever ever fail his family again.

Snotlout seems to have shrunk. He hangs there, abject and lost. "Please don't." The words slip out of him, small and lonely. "Please don't."

Spitelout smiles at the terror in his boy's voice. He won't forget this lesson anytime soon. Snotlout continues to plead, voice trailing off to soft whispers, eyes glazing over.

And Hookfang hears it, just as he makes landfall.


	8. Chapter 8

Emotion sears through Hookfang, blazing brighter than his flame. "SNOTLOUT!" he screams in his own tongue, driving a pillar of flame into the beach, splattering liquid fire all around and melting the sand's surface into glassy slag. He dives between Snotlout and his sire and crouches to his little human, shielding him with his wings. "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," he babbles, knowing Snotlout will hear it as roaring and not giving a damn. "I'm here. I'm here now, hatchling, it's all over, I've got you, little brother, I'm here, I'm here."

Snotlout blinks slowly, eyes wide and unfocused. Hookfang forces his flame down. "I'm here, partner, I'm here," he chokes. "I'll protect you, I'm here." Hookfang wraps his tail around them both as he moves closer. His human hangs from a rope, wretched and shivering, smelling of shame and misery. He looks barely alive, divested of his outer coverings and stripped to his pale human core. His fragile skin is torn and tattered, the translucent surface revealing the bleeding and damage to the flesh underneath.

"Get away, lizard!"

And he has been hurt so… by this man.

"Hookfang, DON'T KILL HIM!" Snotlout screams as Hookfang whirls.

Snotlout's sire will never know how lucky he is: only esteem for his human restrains him from delivering the killing blow that Spitelout deserves. He barely manages to divert his flame into the beach. Then he spreads his wings, flames up and roars, a solid wall between his rider and anyone who dares to hurt him. A curl of bitter amusement snakes through Hookfang's stomach as he realizes that he's standing the way Toothless was when he was protecting Hiccup from Hookfang himself, in that battle so long ago. The very dragon Hookfang always scoffs at for being too soft.  _Got to the same place in the end, just took the long way around._ He'd be more amused if he wasn't so angry.

He concentrates and fires.

The Iron Root in Spitelout's hand catches alight. Spitelout yelps and drops it. Hookfang follows up by incinerating the thing, watching it melt into ash and slag. It glows scarlet for an instant, then is soaked up by the sand below. Then he meets Spitelout's eyes.  _As a courtesy to your son, I am letting you live. Run._

Spitelout stares right back, every inch the Viking who once faced off against them in the raids. "Get away, dragon! I'm disciplining my boy, who you've half-ruined, and—"

Hookfang doesn't waste time. Snotlout needs him. He breathes a circle of flame around Spitelout, effectively trapping him. Then he turns to his partner. Snotlout is bathed in acrid-smelling sweat, edged with bitterness and blood. His eyes are rolling up into his head.  _Oh Moon and Stars and Sky…_ Hookfang's skin is afire, and he can't stop it.

Hookfang has to turn away for a moment, needing to calm down enough to tamp his flame. He blasts out a pillar of fire into the heavens, twinned with a roar of rage and anguish. He takes a few deep, heaving breaths to calm himself, then moves close.  _I'm here, I'm here, it's all over,_ he whispers, wrapping a wing round his trembling, bleeding little brother.  _I'm here, dear one, you're safe, you're safe now, I'm here, I've got you, I'm here, I'm here._

Carefully, Hookfang flames the lasso holding Snotlout up. The rope falls away and his arms fall with it, crumpling to his sides, and Snotlout slides down the inside of Hookfang's wing, human sweat and blood smearing over Hookfang's scales. Any hope that Snotlout could ride him is dashed: his rider can't move. Claws it is, then.

Hookfang grabs him around his upper arms and takes flight.

* * *

"Hookfang."

_I'm here, hatchling. I'm here with you. You're safe. I'm here._

"Hookfang!"

_Calm yourself, little brother. I've got you._

"No no no…"

Snotlout's struggling in Hookfang's claws. His movements are so feeble, his scent so sharp with terror and agony, that it feels like claws ripping into Hookfang's chest.  _Easy,_ Hookfang instructs _. Easy, dear one. You are so badly injured, save your strength. We'll be there soon. Don't exert yourself._

"Can't take me… to the Edge."

_You don't get a say in this._

"No!" Snotlout struggles harder with what feeble strength he has left. "You can't do that to me!"

Hookfang knows Snotlout can't understand him, but he speaks to him anyway.  _This isn't something I can fix,_ he explains, shaking his head for emphasis. _You need your own kind. I'm not letting you die._ His heart aches, and he accepts it as his due. It's his own fault for allowing himself to care… to—to...

_"Hookfang!"_

Hookfang shakes his head. I  _can't let you die,_ he repeats helplessly.

Maybe Toothless is right, and humans  _do_ understand dragons if they live together long enough. "Hookfang, I'll be FINE! It looks worse than it is. You can't take me there. I can't let them see me…" Snotlout's voice is a broken moan. "I can't… Not like this."

_I have to. I'm sorry,_ says Hookfang. Sorry he ever met the human. Sorry he ever grew to care so much. His heart is twisting out of his chest and his flame is choking him. 'Caring' is overrated: it brings nothing but pain. Caring is a ball with spikes that resides in his heart, and it pierces his heart every time it contracts. He should have flown away when he had the chance.

But Hookfang's sire was right: he is too weak to fly away, a prisoner of his own feeble heart. He can do nothing but stay close to his little human brother, guard and protect him in the aftermath of his ordeal. And what fills Hookfang with rage is that he can't even  _do_ anything for Snotlout. He can't heal him, he can't comfort him. All he can do is hold him gently through his suffering… and take him to his friends, who can heal him with skills Hookfang doesn't possess. Skills he  _can't_ possess. Humans are so small, but small, dextrous human hands are exactly what Snotlout needs right now.

"Hookfang!" Snotlout still sounds weak, but he's brightened considerably, as if he's just had the world's best idea. "Dip me… in the sea."

_In the sea?_ Hookfang quarks.

"Yeah! Listen. Salt water is awesome. It heals wounds and everything. Just dip me in the sea. Like, by my arms. I know you can do that!" Snotlout's voice is high-pitched and over-bright. "The cold will stop the swelling and the salt will keep the cuts from getting infected and I'll be able to go right back to the Edge. Maybe… maybe I can get dressed and no one will notice."

Hookfang has never heard of the magical properties of seawater, but it stands to reason that his human would know more about human things.  _Are you sure?_

"Positive! C'mon, Hooky, you're already flying, just drag me through the water! This is the best idea I've ever had."

_Your previous ideas were, how do you humans say it?_  He tries to be tactful. _Nothing to write home about._

"This is gonna fix everything, Fangster. Trust me."

Beating his wings, Hookfang hovers over the deep, still water. He's  _so not dragging_ Snotlout  _anywhere,_ not with  _these_ wounds. He suspects that Snotlout is unnaturally animated from a combination of the night air and the remarkable surge of energy that comes with injury, which crashes so hard and so fast after.

He folds his wings and drops in a controlled dive, plunging Snotlout into the water and out again without his face ever submerging.

Snotlout lets out a scream, convulses, and passes out.


	9. Chapter 9

Reminder: The dragons' names for themselves and most of the dragon culture are from 10Blue10 with thanks. My Spitelout is an abusive $$#&#*. Graphic violence. H/c wallow.

* * *

Toothless looks up from where he's lying on the beach.  _Incoming._

"Are they back?"

Toothless sniffs the air, then recoils.  _Come on._ He nudges Hiccup up into the saddle. I  _think we need to be up at the main quarters for this._

Hiccup looks up worriedly and follows Toothless' lead. But once they're in the air, he clicks the foot pedal to bank left instead of right. "Toothless. Try and steer them to our place."

Toothless gives a rumble and a nod –  _good thinking –_ and they soar in a circle, acting as a signal of sorts for the Nightmare that Hiccup can see coming in from the sea.

They're barely up at the house before Hookfang flaps in, braking with a downdraft of wingbeats and depositing Snotlout on the deck outside Hiccup's hut as gently as he can. The human is a dark shape in Hookfang's shadow, lying on the wooden boards half-curled on his side. Hookfang is keening  _I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him._

Toothless recoils. But then he sees Snotlout's chest rise and fall. Hiccup's scent spikes  _concern-anguish_ and he takes a step toward Snotlout, but Hookfang curls around him with a wild snarl of grief.  _Nobody come near him. He's mine!_

"It's OK, Hookfang," Hiccup soothes. "It's OK, I just want to look…"

But Hookfang isn't listening.  _I killed him I killed him. I should die. I should die._

Toothless snarls in exasperation.  _He's not dead, you idiot!_

"Hookfang! We need to help him!" Hiccup is yelling now.

The Fire-Scale is deaf to them, bending over Snotlout, cupping him in his wings as he lies motionless on the deck.  _Little one, my little one,_ he keens. Toothless chills at the realization that Hookfang is speaking the dragon lament for a dead hatchling.  _O my dearest, heart's flame, soul's light, without you the world is endless night._

 _Hookfang!_ Toothless yells. Hookfang does not tear his attention away.  _Fire-Scale!_ he yells again, a little more desperate.

"Toothless!" Hiccup turns to him, clutching at his hair. "Little help here! He's got to let us near so we can help him!"

 _Look! He's breathing!_ Toothless raises his voice.

But there's no response. Hookfang is still rocking and keening.  _I should have protected you. I should have saved you. I shouldn't have listened to you. Never listen to a human._

Toothless risks life and limb to get close to Hookfang, waving a wing at Snotlout's face. Hookfang snarls, almost feral. Toothless has never seen the Fire-Scale so distraught.

In desperation, Toothless reaches inside him for his Queen-Voice. He hates to use it, because it makes him like… like  _Him._ Like the Red Death. But if he doesn't, Hookfang really  _will_ lose his hatchling. Crooning reassuringly to Hiccup, Toothless closes his eyes and focuses.

 _He's alive,_ Toothless projects into Hookfang's mind, louder than thought, cutting through the wall of his friend's grief. He tries to make his tone like leading dragons with a beacon, like purring to soothe panic. He doesn't explain, doesn't elaborate, just patiently keeps repeating it, pushing the conviction into Hookfang.  _He's alive. He's alive. He's alive._

 _He's alive?_ Hookfang blinks. Then he lets out a great cry, nosing and licking at Snotlout.  _He's alive! He's alive!_

As the Fire-Scale's tongue laves his rider's damaged chest and back – O Moon and Sky, what has been  _done_ to him? – Snotlout's lungs expand in a breath. Hookfang lets out a cry and he turns his head away, shuddering from his head to the tip of his tail. If he were human, he would be weeping.  _He's alive, he's alive._

 _Come now,_ Toothless says aloud, withdrawing from Hookfang's mind.  _Let Hiccup examine him._

Still shuddering, Hookfang lifts his curled-up tail a little, allowing Hiccup to step through. Hiccup kneels to his kinsman, reaching out to take his head in both hands. "Oh, Snotlout." Hiccup's face twists, like he might start crying. "I am never leaving you with him again," he whispers, low and bitter.

Behind him, Toothless can hear rustling from the dragon stables below. He turns to find Stormfly and Barf&Belch fluttering in for a landing.  _Quiet,_ he instructs them.  _Your riders can't learn of this._

Toothless has never been officially paid obeisance, but having killed the Red Death, he and Hiccup are the de facto Queens of the Helheim's Gate dragons. It'll come in useful now if Toothless needs to give orders to the others. If Hiccup is keeping them confined to his hut to hide it from the other humans – humans have strange notions of pride – Toothless needs to try and get this under control, fast, before it starts to look suspicious. A gaggle of noisy dragons in the middle of the night will surely wake the Riders, who are unusually alert to any disturbance, for humans. And Hookfang's agitation is not helping.  _He told me seawater would heal him,_ the Fire-Scale roars, shaking his head and flapping his wings _. I did what he said, and… and…_

 _Quiet. Quiet, now. It wasn't your fault. You weren't to know,_ croons Toothless.  _You didn't kill him, he's fine, he'll be fine._ He gestures to where Hiccup is kneeling by Snotlout, one hand cupping Snotlout's cheek, the other ghosting over his cousin's injuries, not touching. He lies quite still, curled up on his side. One of Snotlout's arms is splayed out before him, stark white against the wooden deck, the other dangling limply over his stomach. Hiccup shakes his head, still making quick, darting little motions with his body that tell Toothless he's thinking of how best to proceed.

 _Yes yes! Little human alive,_ says a Night Terror, one of a pair who have scuttled onto the deck with the commotion.

 _Injured yes but Little Human alive, no worry Giant Fire-Scale,_ says the Terror's friend.

Hookfang bristles, rising from his curled-up position.  _He's a warrior. He is not little!_

 _Littlest of all the humans here,_ shrugs the first Terror.  _If you measure from head to tail, that is. We call him Little One._

Toothless frowns at the realization. It's been true for some time, he acknowledges, he just never thought to measure the humans against one another: they're all little as far as full-size dragons are concerned. Even Toothless is longer than any of the humans. Not that it matters right now.  _Hookfang, pull yourself together,_ Toothless snaps.  _He's going to need you._

 _Yes, he's alive,_ Barf (or is it Belch?) confirms. Toothless is grateful for their help.

Stormfly squawks to Hookfang from the edge of the group.  _Have you never seen the difference between a living and dead human before?_

 _I don't know from humans,_ confesses the Fire-Scale sheepishly.

 _Well, it's high time you started,_ Meatlug purrs.  _Your human needs you._

 _He's not my… Oh, damn it all to Helheim, anyway._ Hookfang lowers his head back to his rider and nuzzles his face. He stays close, purring  _I'm here I'm here I'm here._

Hiccup looks up, still supporting his kinsman's head in his hand. "I need your help," he says to the assembled dragons. "Hookfang, Toothless, help me get him inside. Meatlug, go get Fishlegs. The rest of you…" He meets Stormfly's and the Zippleback's eyes, and nods to the Night Terrors. "You guys," he addresses the Terrors first, "keep your family away. The last thing we need is a crowd. Thanks," he adds as an afterthought. "Stormfly, Barf, Belch, I want you to go back to bed and act normal. I'm gonna trust you to try and run interference so Astrid and the twins don't find out about… this, okay?"

Barf&Belch nod and back up, but Stormfly tilts her head.  _Why?_

 _Because you are our flocklings,_ Toothless draws breath to say. What good is it being the queen if he can't help Hiccup? But a calm-down gesture from Hiccup silences him.

"It's okay, bud." To Stormfly, he says, "Dragons have customs, right? Dragon pride?" He waits for Stormfly's head-bob before continuing. "This is kind of the same. It's a human thing. He…" Hiccup's eyes flicker to Snotlout and he inhales deeply. "He wouldn't be too happy about anyone finding out, let's put it that way. Human pride."

Stormfly nods once.  _Understood. It is shameful to have kin who would hurt you so terribly. Not his shame. But shame. Stormfly understands._

"Okay. Thanks," Hiccup nods. Toothless rather thinks the last part has gone over Hiccup's head, but it doesn't really matter as Stormfly has already taken off.

Hookfang doesn't budge from Snotlout's side. Toothless knows how he feels: although they're home safe, he keeps feeling his own tail moving to curl around Hiccup, as if to protect him from some mysterious foe. "Can you take him inside, Hookfang?" asks Hiccup.

Hookfang noses around Snotlout and then looks up at them. _No clothes._ He shakes his head.  _Nothing to carry him by._   _And his skin…I can't touch him…_ Hookfang's face contorts. Toothless could never have imagined seeing the proud Fire-Scale's eyes so wretched.

"Toothless." Hiccup's no-nonsense tone cuts in. "Little help here?"

Toothless pads over to Snotlout, sniffing. He can see Hookfang's point. He's scared to just flip the injured human onto his back—it might hurt him worse. As Toothless circles again, looking for a place to hold, he hears the telltale  _thwop-thwop-thwop_ of Meatlug's wings.


	10. Chapter 10

Meatlug touches down gracefully, drone of wingbeats cutting off. The platform vibrates as Fishlegs hops off Meatlug’s back and moves toward them. “Hiccup. What’s—” His eyes drop to Snotlout’s form and they widen in horror — “Oh Thor!”

Fishlegs hurries forward and drops to his knees by Snotlout’s side. Hookfang rumbles and growls protectively, curling closer around his rider, but the unforgiving moon is out, and nothing can be hidden. Fishlegs stares in shock at Snotlout, clad only in belt, gauntlets and smallclothes, soaked in salt-crystalled seawater and covered in bruises and welts and blood. Fishlegs crouches closer, reaching out a hesitant hand to palm Snotlout’s cheek. Probably one of the safe places that he can touch. “What _happened_ to him?”

Hiccup opens his mouth. It’s at times like these that he really wishes he was a better liar. “Uh…”

He’s saved by Toothless, who mimes a dragon-crash. Toothless has always been a good friend to have at your back in a crisis.

Unfortunately, Toothless is clearly a no better liar than Hiccup. “Oh, I see,” says Fishlegs slowly. He straightens and looks the Night Fury in the eye. “And those whip-marks, are they from the crash too?”

Hiccup pinches the bridge of his nose. “You sure picked some time to get sarcastic, Fishlegs.”

Fishlegs ignores Hiccup’s words. He’s already focused on Snotlout again, one hand cupped around the back of Snotlout’s neck, his other hand clasping his elbow. “How did this happen?!” he asks, still looking down at Snotlout. “Was it Viggo? Ryker? I thought he was going to a _wedding!_ With his _dad_ , right?! _”_

Much, much later, after this is all over, Hiccup will curse himself for being unable to recognize a perfect out even when it walks right up to him and hits him in the face. All he had to say was that Snotlout was tortured by one of the hunters. But instead, he stands there and mutters, “Yeah, he was.”

“Then who…” Fishlegs looks from Hiccup to Snotlout. His voice is very small. “…No.”

Hookfang growls. And Hiccup remembers that Fishlegs was bullied too, that Fishlegs noticed things too.

He inhales deeply. “C’mon, Fishlegs. Help me get him inside.”

Fishlegs stands frozen for a long moment, then lunges for Meatlug. Toothless warbles in alarm. “We’ve got to get Gothi!”

“No.” Hiccup steps between Fishlegs and his dragon. Behind him, he can hear Hookfang purring to Snotlout. He has to get this done _now._ “We have to take care of him here. That’s why I called you over.”

“Me? I’m not a healer!” Fishlegs gapes at him. “Hiccup, he needs Gothi!”

“I _know!”_ Hiccup hisses, Toothless muttering support behind him. “But we can’t _do_ that to Snotlout! You think he’d want the whole of Berk knowing what happened to him? To be carried around and have people pity him? _Snotlout??”_ He gestures to him. _“Our_ Snotlout?”

This gives Fishlegs pause. “Yes, but…”

“You think he’d want even _us_ to know about it?” Hiccup shakes his head, unsure of how he’s going to handle it, then thinks maybe he’ll burn that bridge - or something - when he comes to it. But he cannot let this get back to Berk. “If he was awake, you know what he’d say!”

“But--”

“Even if it were okay to take him,” Hiccup cuts Fishlegs off, “he’s hurt too bad to survive the flight to Berk.” Fishlegs’ eyes flicker from Hiccup to Snotlout. “You know I’m right.”

Fishlegs’ shoulders slump. But then he snaps his fingers. “Hiccup! The Defenders of the Wing! They’ll have a healer. We can go and bring her to the Edge, and—”

Hiccup stares evenly at him. “You remember the whole ‘king’ thing? How do you think they’ll react if they see Snotlout this way?”

Fishlegs opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Hookfang’s purring fills the air, a little more urgent now. Toothless nudges Hiccup’s hand and Hiccup flats his palm gratefully on the crown of his friend’s head, drawing strength. “Yeah,” Hiccup exhales. “Do _you_ see Mala giving us her healer, no questions asked? You trust the Wing’s healers, whoever they are, with Snotlout’s secrets? With _Berk’s?_ What do you think will happen if Viggo takes over the Defenders’ island?”

Hiccup waits till he sees his friend’s shoulders slump. “C’mon, Fishlegs,” Hiccup says. “Let’s get him inside.”

Fishlegs obeys, taking Snotlout’s shoulders as Hiccup bends to grab his legs. They lift and carry, Hookfang moving out of the way. It’s a bit worrying that Snotlout’s this deeply unconscious. Is he that badly hurt – surely his dad wouldn’t hurt him seriously! – or is it the mortification of Hiccup knowing? But Snotlout was brought to the Edge unconscious. He wouldn’t know that anyone has realized what happened. Probably a combination of the shock and the beating, Hiccup concludes, and being undressed on such a cold night. Did Snotlout fall into the sea on top of everything? His body’s dry now, but he’s crusted with salt and his face is hot and his limbs are _freezing._

“Where do we put him, Hiccup?” Fishlegs asks, moving backwards into the main downstairs area.

“Ah, that was stupid. We should have spread out some blankets before we—Oh. Over there.”

Hiccup jerks his head at what he’s just spotted. So quietly Hiccup wouldn’t have thought it of him, Hookfang’s slipped in ahead of them. He scuttles to the corner most out of the draft, lies down on his back, and, as the two humans look over at him, opens his wings, exposing his ridged underbelly. He gestures with his head and claws. _Lay him down here. On me._

“I’m not sure how Monstrous Nightmare gel would interact with injuries,” Fishlegs balks. “And there’s seawater in the mix…”

But Hiccup’s already lowered Snotlout’s legs to the floor. “Hold onto him for a second. I’ll get something.”

The ‘something’ ends up being a cotton quilt – softer and thicker than a blanket, no risk of wool fibers getting into the places where the skin is broken. Toothless helps Hiccup pull it out of a storage chest and carry it over to the Nightmare. “Okay, Hookfang?”

The dragon nods rapidly, unable to take his eyes off Snotlout. Hiccup’s chest feels tight with the certain knowledge of how Hookfang is _aching_ to have his wounded rider in his wings, to fold him into his body’s safety and comfort after his ordeal. Hiccup pushes aside a sudden urge to hold Toothless and not let go for, oh, maybe a week or so, at least, and moves to spread out the quilt on Hookfang.

Toothless croons encouragingly – to everyone, most probably – as he helps Hiccup lay the fabric into place like a bedsheet, Hookfang’s stomach forming a mattress. Hiccup meets his concerned green eyes as he pulls the quilt taut, Toothless holding the other corner, and his heart tightens with love. “Fishlegs?”

“Ready.” Hiccup picks up Snotlout’s feet again, and they lay him carefully onto his side on the dragon’s stomach. Hookfang rumbles and purrs, licking Snotlout’s hair. “Fishlegs, I’ll be your assistant. Go get your botany books and – and whatever you need. You’re the healer in this.”

“I’m not sure…”

“We can’t tell anyone, not even Astrid or the twins. You have to, Fishlegs. He needs you.”

“He’s gonna hate me forever,” Fishlegs whispers as he runs for Meatlug and hops lightly into her saddle. But when he speaks again, there’s a touch of authority in his tone. “Hiccup, heat up some water, start washing him down. _Gently_. I’ll be right back.”

* * *

 

Toothless is already dragging a bucket out. They have a pretty decent water storage, so Hiccup doesn’t feel the need to leave to get more. He tilts his head at Toothless, who obligingly shoots controlled blast after plasma blast into the water’s center until it starts to bubble and steam. “Do another one while I get started, bud?”

Hiccup makes a quick trip upstairs, making a mental note to thank Gobber for drilling into him the need to always keep an ample supply of clean fabric on hand. “Never know when you’re gonna need it,” his mentor always says. He piles as much of it into his arms as he can carry while navigating the stairs.

As he climbs down, he hears water bubbling and boiling, and thanks Thor for having a best friend he can always count on. “Thanks, Toothless.” The Night Fury helpfully lugs one of the buckets over to the living bed. Hookfang eyes Hiccup with trepidation as he sets down the pile of fabric. Hiccup chooses a large square of linen and, careful to keep his movements visible to Hookfang, kneels to dip it into the bucket of hot water. He holds it above the surface to cool, letting the steaming water stream back into the bucket.

“Hookfang.” Hiccup meets Hookfang’s eyes. “I’m going to clean him up. It’s gonna hurt, probably. If you flame up, it’ll be a disaster. If you shoot fire at the roof, it’s gonna bring everyone running. You have to control yourself, or,” he swallows down the pang he feels at making such a threat, “I’ll have to make you wait outside.”

Hookfang lets out a low, threatening growl at that, and Toothless snarls. “Guys!” Hiccup stands. “This isn’t the time. Snotlout needs us.” Toothless subsides, muttering softly. Hookfang’s eyes are pleading. _Don’t make me leave him._ “It’s okay, Hookfang.” Hiccup’s voice softens. “Just keep the flaming under control, okay?”

Hiccup lays the soaking fabric gently on Snotlout’s side. Snotlout jerks and lets out an incoherent, animal cry. Hiccup flinches back, startled, and Hookfang grunts as if he feels the pain in his own hide. The grunt subsides into a murmur as the Nightmare brings a claw round to press softly against Snotlout’s cheek.

Hiccup waits for a moment, then lifts the cloth and presses it against Snotlout’s arm to push some more water out. It flows in trails down his injured back and side, taking salt crystals with it to soak into the quilt. Even through the fabric, Hiccup can feel that Snotlout’s arm is freezing. He touches his forehead, and it’s already searing hot. “Whose bright idea was it to dip him in the sea?”

Hookfang’s eyes won’t leave Snotlout, but his head shakes from side to side. _Not mine._ Toothless rumbles. “Or do I need to ask,” Hiccup sighs, rolling his eyes as he keeps working. The arms are easy enough, and actually not that badly hurt at all – except for some raw areas around the wrists…

“…is this what I think it is?” Hiccup asks Hookfang. “It looks almost like…” He meets the Nightmare’s eyes and can’t help his voice dropping to a whisper. He feels his face scrunch up incredulously. “… _rope burn?”_

Hookfang’s pupils narrow, and Hiccup knows the answer is yes. “Great Odin’s ghost,” he mutters under his breath. “I always knew your dad was an asshole, Snotlout, just not this much of an asshole.”

“Don’t say a word against… _ah…”_

Hiccup jumps. “You’re awake!” he blurts, scrambling round to Snotlout’s front. “How are you feeling?” he asks, trying to be gentle. It feels odd, like wearing someone else’s clothes. Hiccup and his cousin have hardly ever been anything even _approaching_ gentle with each other. At least, not while in their right minds and conscious.

“What’re you doin’… here?” Snotlout slurs. He’s trying to focus, but what with the night flight and the whipping and everything else, it’s a lost cause.  “G’ lost, Hiccup. ‘M fine.”

Hiccup rolls his eyes. Of all the times for Snotlout to decide to be difficult. “Tough luck, Snotlout, you’re stuck with me. We’re taking care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of…” Snotlout tries to get an elbow under himself and push himself up to a sitting position. He gets as far as steadying himself with his other arm before he stills with a squeal. Hookfang whips his claws round to catch Snotlout’s upper arms, and Snotlout slumps in Hookfang’s hold, breathing hard and raspy.

“Now do you get it?” Hiccup bends over him. “You’re hurt. Just let us take care of you,” he tries for a smile and fails, “and quit acting like a stubborn yak!”

Snotlout’s eyes meet Hiccup’s, wide and blue and bloodshot… and shattered. He’s still panting as if he’s been running flat-out, his hair matted with sweat. Hookfang gives a little admonitory rumble and licks his head. Snotlout’s face softens a fraction. Hiccup’s heart aches.

“Thirsty,” Snotlout whispers.

“Oh gods.” Hiccup remembers with a pang tales Stoick’s told him of how wounds give warriors a terrible thirst. “Sure. Uh…” Toothless noses at Hiccup’s side. He’s got a bucket of water in his jaws, with a mug floating in it. Hiccup’s heart fills. What would he do without Toothless? “Thanks, bud.” He fills the mug and hands it to Snotlout. “C’mon, let’s try this.”

Snotlout’s throat bobs. He’s clearly parched. But his hand is so unsteady he can barely grip the mug, shaking fingers slipping off its smooth metal surface. Hiccup puts out a hand to steady it, and his fingers brush against the rope-burned wrist. Snotlout’s eyes drop to it and he glares, flushing in two bright spots on his pale cheeks. “I don’t n—need…” He chokes and bends forward to hide his face, then cries out as the motion pulls on his ravaged back. Hiccup can only see the top of his head. “Get away from me!” Snotlout cries, voice hitching.

Hiccup’s still thinking what to do when a giant claw comes round to cover both his hand and his cousin’s. Hookfang vocalizes, honking and purring. Hiccup doesn’t think he’s imagining _Drink up, little brother, and don’t be too proud to accept help –_ especially when the Nightmare’s great head dips to nuzzle Snotlout’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” Hiccup whispers, as though calming a wild dragon. “It’s okay.”

Their trio of joined hands – well, two hands and a claw – raises the mug, and Snotlout drinks deeply, moaning a little in relief as he does. “More?” Hiccup coaxes, filling the mug quickly and bringing it up again. Snotlout drains it, and then a third time. He ends up drinking four and a half mugs before his thirst is slaked.

When Snotlout’s done, he half-slumps, breathing hard with a pained little wheeze on each exhale. Hiccup grabs the mug and Hookfang curls both claws round his rider’s shoulders, grunting worriedly. “I’m gonna need to wash the salt off you,” Hiccup says. “It’s going to hurt. But…”

The _thwup-thwup-thwup_ of Meatlug’s wings sounds outside. Snotlout flinches painfully, then raises his head in shock as Fishlegs comes in, laden with supplies. “Oh no! Who asked you to come in here, Fishface?” he shouts. Or tries to—his voice is a feeble rasp.

Toothless lets out a disapproving chirr. Fishlegs hesitates for a moment in the doorway before setting his jaw and walking the rest of the way in. “Like it or not, I’m all you’ve got, Snotlout,” he mutters, with a decisiveness Hiccup has only seen once or twice before in his life. “Unless you want me to go get Thor Bonecrusher.”

“That would be nice, yeah…”

There’s an odd note in Snotlout’s voice. Hiccup whirls to him just as he slumps in Hookfang’s claws, eyes closed and shivering.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Not for the first time, Fishlegs wishes he _was_ Thor Bonecrusher. It would make life so much easier.

Pushing the idle thought aside, he sweeps past Hiccup and Toothless to where Hookfang is holding Snotlout upright. Triage first. Open wounds but not actively bleeding. Pain, of course. Shock, most likely. Fever— “He’s burning up,” Fishlegs snaps. “Hiccup, we have to get this down, now. Find us some ice… Toothless, can you go get some?” The Night Fury nods and slips out of the room. “Hookfang, I’m going to clean him off and get him bandaged up with poultices. You know what those are, don’t you?” The dragon nods. “Okay. Can you talk to him, purr for him?” Hookfang blinks, and Fishlegs looks into his anguished eyes, not without sympathy. “You probably don’t feel much like purring right now. But it’s the best thing for him, it’ll calm him down, might help with the fever as well.” The deep, resonant, boiling-teakettle purr immediately starts thrumming through Hookfang’s body. “Good. Keep it up.”

Hiccup’s barely been able to follow this flurry of action. He feels the corner of his mouth quirk upward as his chest swells with pride in his friend. _And Fishlegs thought he wasn’t up to this._

Fishlegs is not feeling confident in the least, but there are things to do and he knows how to do them, so that’s what he’ll do. “Hiccup, keep giving me wet cloths, okay? This has to be cleaned off now.” Hiccup obliges, and Fishlegs starts working. He doesn’t dare scrub at the deeply welted and raw flesh, so he just uses the towels to sluice water all over everything. “Sorry about your quilt,” he adds as an afterthought to Hiccup.

“I’ll wash it later. We’ve got another one.”

As Fishlegs works, Snotlout grunts, then starts moaning with every exhalation. Hookfang grunts in sympathy and licks the top of his head. Fishlegs’ chest feels tight. “Sorry, Snotlout,” he apologizes, unsure if Snotlout can hear him. “I gotta get this cleaned off. It wasn’t a bad idea with the seawater, but the salt can’t stay.”

“You think it was on purpose?” asks Hiccup, steadily dipping and handing cloths to Fishlegs.

“Oh, yeah. Hookfang, you did it deliberately, didn’t you?”

Hookfang tilts his head and quarks in what’s clearly a _Yes, but it was his idea._

“Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t a bad thing to do,” Fishlegs says, patting the Nightmare’s quilt-draped stomach. “Probably helpful in the long run. But it’s going to make his pain worse and irritate his skin…” Fishlegs grimaces. _And it’s already bad._ “That’s why we need to clean it off.”

The humans work steadily as Hookfang licks Snotlout’s face. Toothless pads in with two blocks of ice in his jaws. “Crush ‘em into a bucket, bud?” They end up with a container of watery crushed ice. “Hookfang, can you…” Hiccup looks up and smiles. Hookfang is already using one of his claws to dip a cloth in the ice, then drape it carefully over his rider’s forehead. “Atta boy!”

They work for what seems like a long time. Their patient makes little sounds with each breath, but doesn’t come back to the wakefulness of before. Even unconscious, he shudders and groans as Fishlegs washes the salt off the places where the skin is flayed raw and bleeding. Hiccup cringes to hear it, and Hookfang writhes and moans, just barely holding himself back from blasting holes in the ceiling. “It’s okay, Hookfang,” Hiccup reassures. “It’s okay. Just try and keep quiet.” The dragon throws his head back, giving vent to his feelings in a belch of smoke and fire that thankfully doesn’t reach the roof.

Fishlegs keeps working. It’s funny how he used to hate Snotlout when they were little, then grew to respect him – and now his heart aches and goes out to him with every sound of pain his friend makes. He keeps washing off the crusted salt, shutting out Snotlout’s moans and Hookfang’s anguished rumbles. He can practically hear the dragon begging _Help him. Stop the hurting._ “Is there something more Hookfang can do to help?” asks Hiccup.

Hiccup always asks the right questions, always. “Yeah,” says Fishlegs, thinking aloud. He’s noticed Snotlout’s getting hot and dry. “Hookfang, when you’ve put the ice on his head, as you’re waiting to change it, go ahead and lick the rest of him. It’s good, it’ll help cool him down.”

The dragon immediately sets to licking the wounds Fishlegs has washed and gently running his tongue over his rider’s arms. “Let’s get this done…” Fishlegs sets Hiccup to finishing the washing while he heaps herbs into a mortar, grinding them fine to make a salve. Toothless, who has appointed himself Hiccup’s assistant, passes Hiccup cloths and places the dirty ones in a pile. There’s an embarrassing moment when Hiccup has to remove Snotlout’s salt-saturated leather gear and underwear (“No, those can’t stay, Hiccup. Good way to have the salt eat through his skin”), but Hiccup gets through it by looking mostly away while he splashes water over his cousin’s privates and covers him with a sheet, patting him dry. Hiccup winces as he presses the soft cloth onto the wounds, bloody liquid soaking through the sheet with the water from the washing, but he finishes the job with admirable fortitude. Hiccup’s always been a great partner for serious work. “You’re doing great, Hiccup,” Fishlegs encourages him, even managing a smile, but Hiccup just winces and shakes his head. Fish can’t really blame him.

Finally, the herbs and other ingredients are mixed smooth enough for Fishlegs’ requirements. “Going to put the salve on now. Could you light another torch, Toothless?” Fishlegs requests. Obediently, the Night Fury shoots a careful blast, setting the torch-head glowing. Then he helpfully rises on his hind legs, lifts the torch out of its bracket, and trots over with the handle in his mouth.

“Thanks, bud,” Hiccup croons to his dragon. Toothless warbles back as best he can with the torch in his teeth. Then he rises to sit on his haunches and hold the light aloft, angling it so the humans can see.

Fishlegs gasps. Under the bright torchlight, each welt is painfully visible, casting shadows over Snotlout’s skin. Fishlegs almost asks Toothless to move the torch away, sickened at how the lashes have overlapped to flay Snotlout’s back and legs raw; there’s barely any skin left. His sides are blistered, underlain with bruising all the way down to the bone, his chest similarly bruised and scored with raised, purple ridges. Hiccup grunts in sympathy as the light makes it visible to him as well. “I shouldn’t have left him,” he whispers, in pain. Hookfang nods and moans. “Shouldn’t have let you leave him,” Hiccup adds, unable to tear his eyes away.

Fishlegs forces himself to be the voice of reason. “This isn’t helping. Come on.” Steeling himself, he scoops out some of the balm in his fingers and carefully layers it on in a thick paste, hands not touching the raw flesh. “It’s okay, Snotlout,” he dares to say, even though Snotlout has said he doesn’t want him here. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ve got you.” In Fishlegs’ wake, Hiccup lays pretty much all their store of scrubbed seaweed over the balm and then wraps everything up in soft, clean bandages. “Yeah, up, Hookfang… turn… Perfect.”

As they work, Snotlout moans and shifts, trying to push his way into consciousness. “Come on,” urges Fishlegs. “Come on.”

But the fever’s climbing, and although Snotlout opens his eyes, they are glazed and unfocused. “Hookfang…” he moans. The Nightmare croons and licks his rider, beating a wing to fan him with cooler air. Snotlout moans, hands blindly reaching out. “Ah—please…” he mutters. “No… not a thing. He’s not!”

“What?” Hiccup leans in close. “‘Not a thing’?” he murmurs. “What’s not a thing, Snotlout?”

“Hookfang.” Snotlout’s burning face contorts. “He’s not a thing. I never had a—a friend like…” He cuts off, dry-sobbing.

Hookfang brushes a wing over his feverish face and croons, bending close and licking him with infinite gentleness. _Don’t worry. Hush._

 _“No,_ Hookfang! I should have defended you! I’m a coward…” Snotlout sobs again.

Fishlegs fumbles the bandage in shock. “A what?” Hiccup stares as Fishlegs goes on. “I’ve seen you face down Outcasts, bandits, trappers, outnumbered ten to one! How can you say that?!”

Hookfang grunts, echoing Fishlegs. His claws tighten round his rider’s shoulders, as if in an embrace, and he issues a long, tender purr, nuzzling Snotlout’s cheek. Hiccup stares, seeing Toothless just as stunned out of the corner of his eye. If someone had told him Hookfang could sound so soft, he wouldn’t have believed him. Hookfang licks Snotlout’s hair and cheeks and neck as he moans desperately, “I let you down, Hooky, I’m a coward, I’m disloyal—”

“Hold it right there.” Hiccup can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re the most loyal person I’ve known.”

“Hiccup,” Fishlegs murmurs, gesturing for them to work as they talk.

“Okay.” Hiccup takes the bandage from Fishlegs, who spreads salve thickly over Snotlout’s welted and bloodied right thigh, motioning to Hiccup to follow up with the scrubbed seaweed and the bindings. “Snotlout,” Fishlegs says softly as they bend to their task, “what do you mean?”

“Hookfang. He said Hookfang w’s… was a _thing.”_ Snotlout slurs, choked with tears. Hiccup doesn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was.

Fishlegs growls – straight-up _growls._ Hiccup raises his head in alarm.

“He said he couldn’t _feel!_ ” Snotlout moans. “He said Hookfang—he said my Hooky –w-was like—like a mace or a sword and…” Snotlout’s breath catches on a sob, eyes fever-bright and unfocused, “…and I should have stood up for Hookfang but I was already gonna get it so bad…” Snotlout shivers, choking on the rest of his sentence. He tries to breathe again, but it’s uneven and hitching.

Fishlegs and Hookfang growl in unison. Toothless rumbles at Hiccup’s side. Hiccup can only stare, stricken.

“..and I didn’t want to get punished more and I’m a coward. I’m a _coward_ …” Hookfang groans and shakes his head, bussing Snotlout’s cheek and licking him lovingly. Snotlout whimpers and his hand twitches, clearly wanting to reach for his dragon but too weak to move, another sob racking his chest. “I’m so sorry, Hooky, I let you down,” he babbles through his tears, enough heat radiating off him to worry Hookfang. “I didn’t stand up for you. I don’t deserve you…”

Hookfang turns his head upwards and lets out a blast of flame, creating a decent-sized hole in the roof that’s still smoldering around the edges. Hiccup sighs, not blaming Hookfang for his anger. Gods know, his own chest feels tight and his hands ache with the need to do _something_. “Toothless? Can you get Meatlug to put that out?”

The Night Fury slips out. Hookfang is nuzzling Snotlout, purring and licking, his normally neutral eye-bulbs wide with love and sorrow. _You didn’t let me down. You did the right thing. I wouldn’t want you to be hurt more. I don’t care what any human thinks of me. Except you. Only you, little brother. Only you._ Hiccup can practically understand every word, and clearly so can Snotlout, who’s clinging to Hookfang’s snout as best he can with his injuries, half-sobbing, “I’m sorry, Fangster, I’m so sorry, you’re not a thing or a mace or a sword, I shouldn’t have let him say that,” and being comforted by his dragon partner.

Eventually, Snotlout drifts into a feverish doze, Hookfang’s chin still pressed against his cheek, the dragon still crooning to him. With tight, jerky movements, Fishlegs snips off the final bandage and sets his equipment down. Then he rises, fists clenched, and turns away from their work-station. He takes a few paces away, and Hiccup can see his chest rise and fall in deliberate, deep breaths, hands opening and closing at his sides.

It takes Fishlegs several moments to get his rage under control. “The bandages,” he begins unsteadily, “can stay on for two or three days.” He takes a deep breath. “His fever’s high, and it’s going to get higher.” Fishlegs looks directly into the Nightmare’s eye-bulbs. “He’s gonna need you. Keep up the ice and the licking. He might talk or move around, but just keep cooling him. We’ll be here in shifts day and night.”

The dragon nods and licks his rider’s forehead. Then he runs his tongue lightly over Snotlout’s shoulders and upper arms. _Like this?_ he quarks.

“Yes, like that. He might move around,” Fishlegs doesn’t look too happy, “or, uh, thrash about. Heat can do that to humans. If he does, will you be able to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself?”

Hookfang nods, demonstrating by folding his wings around the patient. “Yeah, that’s good.” The dragon reopens his wings, purring deeply and giving his rider another lick. “Yes. That’s perfect. The purring will calm him down. Keep doing that and the ice, and the licking. Hiccup and I can take over while you’re sleeping.”

The Nightmare opens his eyes wide in an exaggerated stare. _Won’t sleep. I’ll watch over him._

“You need sleep, Hookfang,” Hiccup instructs. “Toothless and I are here, Fishlegs is here, Meatlug’s keeping watch at the door. Get some rest, you’ll need it.”

Hookfang nods seriously. “Come on, let’s get him comfortable,” Fishlegs instructs. Their Night Fury nurse croons and noses another cotton quilt into Hiccup’s hands. “Perfect.”

Hookfang lifts his partner while the humans spread out the fresh bedding, then carefully lowers Snotlout onto his underbelly, arranging him onto his least-injured side and tucking him into the soft seam where wing meets stomach. It’s like coming home.

Hookfang smiles at them and sighs. One by one, his wings fold themselves over his sleeping rider. Hookfang starts to lick the tuft of hair protruding above his wings, and the room is filled with the sound of Nightmare purring.

Hiccup inhales deeply. “I’ll take first watch.”

* * *

_Oh, Snotlout. Oh, partner, my little brother, my dear one._

Hookfang can breathe now. Snotlout is right here with him where he belongs, resting warm and safe on Hookfang’s tummy. He’s shivering and mumbling and sick, but he’s here where Hookfang and his humans can comfort him and soothe him and tend his wounds and keep him safe. A tiny frown appears on Snotlout’s forehead; Hookfang wraps his wings around the warm, welcome weight on his chest, and purrs to him, hoping to soothe his dreams. _Oh, little brother._ _I shouldn’t have left you alone._

It wasn’t fun to watch the humans care for his partner, but he let them. Hookfang allowed it, not because of Toothless' command, but because he stands by what he said: Snotlout needs his own kind. They can care for his soft, fragile human skin, they can lower the heat that is health and life to a dragon but danger and death to a human, they can use herbs and plants to ease his pain and heal his wounds. They can bring him water and ice and care for him, they can do what needs to be done.

Snotlout groans in his sleep and the sound claws into Hookfang’s chest. His inner fire threatens to choke him as he sees Snotlout’s face contort in pain. He recalls how Snotlout called himself a coward—and _believed_ it. Hookfang’s little brother is courageous, selfless, with a great heart, but his sire has convinced him he’s ignoble. Hookfang lets out a rumble, aching to flame, to roar, to destroy. It’s what he’s built for, it’s what he’s made for. If he let his skin flare up, if he set this room alight, it might unblock the weight that stops his breath.

The warm – _beloved –_ weight on his underbelly would never survive that. So Hookfang tamps his flame. He croons and shifts Snotlout’s position, hoping to make it hurt less. His heart-fire burns with tenderness. Annoying, relentless scenes keep running through his head of all the times he was late catching Snotlout, the times he hurt him. The times he was proud, the times he was stubborn.

He replaces the iced towel and uses his wings to fan his feverish rider, stroking his little human face with his tongue. _I’m here, partner, I’m here. I’ve got you. Whatever you need, I will do. Whatever it takes, little brother._

Snotlout calms and settles with the coolness, murmuring and curling a hand round the edge of Hookfang’s wing. The wildfire of protectiveness that surges through Hookfang at the touch is indescribable. A Fire-Scale’s flame is nothing to it.

Hookfang licks the little hand, with love. Knowing Snotlout cannot understand dragon tongue, Hookfang still speaks to him. _Don’t hurt, partner. Tell me what you need. Tell me what you need and it’s yours. Like I am._

He should be ashamed at these words. But it is no shame to a dragon to say what he means, and he has never meant anything more.


	12. Chapter 12

Hiccup dozes a little on the floor next to the bed, curled up in the curve of Toothless’ body. He’s woken by grunting. “Wha…”

Hiccup scrambles to stand, leaning on Toothless till he’s vertical. Hookfang’s claws are curled around Snotlout’s upper arms, holding him down. Snotlout’s shifted onto his back, and he’s bucking up off the thick quilt laid over Hookfang’s stomach, eyes squeezed shut and head lashing from side to side. Hiccup feels Snotlout’s forehead and snatches his hand away – he’s burning up. “Toothless! Get Fishlegs, now!”

Hiccup plunges a towel into the ice bucket, mostly melted now but still with some solid chunks still floating near the surface. He wraps ice in the towel and places it directly on the crown of Snotlout’s head. “Okay. Okay.” He meets Hookfang’s eyes. The dragon is frantic, pupils slitted and darting this way and that. “Keep holding him,” Hiccup instructs. “We need to turn him, it’s not helping to keep him on his back. Can you turn him on his side?”

Easily, Hookfang lifts and turns Snotlout, Hiccup holding the ice in place. “Have you been keeping up the compresses?” he asks Hookfang. The dragon’s eyes flit away and he shakes his head. “Oh, man,” Hiccup mutters guiltily. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep: that left only Hookfang awake with Snotlout, and after the emotional upheavals and the long flight, it stood to reason he’d drowse eventually. “It’s okay,” Hiccup reassures with a confidence he doesn’t feel, patting the Nightmare’s chin and giving the scales a quick scratch. “Should go right down again.”

He braces himself with his good leg in front and his prosthetic behind him, holding the ice against Snotlout’s blazing head as Snotlout lifts his hands to bat it away with ugly, guttural moans. Hookfang licks at him, but he just thrashes worse, threatening to squirm out of Hookfang’s grasp and fall to the floor.

“Hey, no. None of that.” Hiccup tenses, overwhelmed with the need to try to comfort Snotlout in some way. Normally, he wouldn't be so slow to offer some comfort, but this is Snotlout. He and Snotlout have only shared a handful of affectionate touches, and almost all of them since they've been living on the Edge. Before then, Hiccup can't remember a time since Snotlout had his first growth spurt, at the age of four. After that, Snotlout's attention to Hiccup was more violent, more angry, and Hiccup knew better than to engage his cousin. Better to just stay out of his way. Snotlout moans again and Hiccup's heart squeezes inside his chest. It's still awkward, but he has to do something. "Uh..." Shifting his grip so the compress is being held in place with one hand, Hiccup reaches out with his freed hand and wraps his fingers around Snotlout's clenched first. His grip slips a bit, from the water left on his hand, but he can't let Snotlout suffer alone.

* * *

“I’m here!” Fishlegs bursts in, flushed and panting as if he’s run all the way instead of riding. He’s holding a wooden spoon and an earthenware mug. Meatlug hurries in behind him. “What’s… Oh, looks like it’s started, huh.” Toothless slips through the door as Fishlegs and Meatlug come further into the room.

“Started?! How long—” Hiccup lets go of Snotlout’s hand. The reaction is instantaneous. Snotlout lets out a thin keening sound and clutches at the air. “Hey. It’s okay,” Hiccup says, inexplicably hesitant to take Snotlout’s hand in his again. “It’s okay, Snotlout. It’s okay.”

Fishlegs moves close, stirring something rapidly in the mug. Steam rises from it in the cold air. “You’re okay, Snotlout, your medicine’ll be ready in a minute. Just hang in there.”

Snotlout moans. Screw hesitation, anyway. Hiccup grabs onto Snotlout’s hand again.

Snotlout shudders convulsively once, then subsides. “Mama?”

Hiccup stares, mouth falling open and his mind racing. Hearing a wounded person calling for their mother should not surprise him (he’s heard men calling for their mothers when the dragon raids were at their peak), but it’s coming from _Snotlout_. It never occurred to him that Snotlout could still feel that fear. But why now? He’s been sick for so long already. Hiccup swallows. Did he do the wrong thing by taking Snotlout’s hand? And then Hiccup’s heart breaks. Comfort from anyone other than his mother must be a foreign concept to Snotlout. “Uh…..” Hiccup shakes his head, trying to rattle some sort of response out of himself. “Um…” Why is nothing coming out?!

“…Mama?” Snotlout’s voice is reedy. He sounds so much younger than Hiccup can even remember: his cousin must have sounded like that back when they were very very little, still cuddling together and playing with soft toys by the fire in the evenings. “Hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Hiccup catches his hands as they clutch at the ice-pack. “No, no, you gotta keep that there!”

Snotlout’s glazed eyes flutter, unseeing. Gods, he’s burning up, and all Hiccup can do is stand there! Hiccup’s eyes flit to Fishlegs, stirring the mug urgently; Fishlegs meets his eyes, clearly saying without words _I’m working as fast as I can._ Hiccup’s attention snaps back to Snotlout when he speaks. “I musta… messed up bad this time. I really hurt.”

Hiccup’s eyes burn, his throat closing as he tries to breathe through everything he’s feeling. Behind him, Fishlegs growls, sounding a lot like his alter ego _._ Snotlout whispers, “I’m thirsty,” and it pierces Hiccup’s heart. Snotlout just drank a lot of water. How fast is his body burning its reserves?

Hiccup reaches blindly for the dipper in the bucket, but Fishlegs stays him, holding up a hand. “Wait a minute,” he whispers. “It’ll be better if he drinks the medicine without too much water to weaken it.” His compassionate friend’s face is scrunched up in a grimace, his hand a blur as he continues to stir the concoction. “It won’t be long, I wouldn’t keep him feeling bad unless it was really necessary. He just really needs it, Hiccup.” Hiccup’s panic must be showing if Fishlegs is volunteering that information. Objectively, Hiccup knows that Fishlegs doesn’t want Snotlout to suffer, but it’s getting harder to focus on getting what needs to get done instead of making everything better _right now_.

“Mama? Please can I have some water?” Snotlout’s thin voice repeats. “I’m… sorry…” Snotlout’s Adam’s apple bobs, dry throat visibly aching for relief, and Hookfang keens, touching his cheek to Snotlout’s and licking his vulnerable throat. “I’m so thirsty, Mama.” There’s a crack, like a hairline fracture, in his voice. His face crumples, looking far too young and vulnerable for Hiccup to handle, and he chokes back a sob. Somehow, Snotlout keeps some composure, fighting back whatever it was that almost broke him.

Hiccup flounders, searching for words. “It’s gonna take a minute to…” Hookfang moans like he’s the one in pain, growling from one human to the other, then licking and murmuring to his suffering rider. He trusts the humans, but he’s clearly not understanding this gratuitous cruelty. Snotlout’s eyes flutter and Hiccup purses his lips. He doesn’t know who Hiccup is. Can Snotlout even hear him? Gods. He has to try. He can’t leave Snotlout wherever he is in his mind.“It’ll be ready, just, you uh, just gotta wait a bit…” Hiccup’s voice wavers so much and he wishes he had a free hand to push the sweat-soaked hair off Snotlout’s forehead. But he can’t move the cold towel, and he can’t let go of Snotlout’s hand. It might not be very grounding for Snotlout right now, but it’s keeping Hiccup from falling apart.

“It’s… it’s okay. I know you can’t…” Snotlout’s chalk-white, spots of red fever-bright on his cheeks. “Not allowed to… to make me feel better…” Hiccup doesn’t know if he can listen to this. “I don’t want to get you in... trouble… hurt all over… ‘n so thirsty… maybe, maybe when he leaves?” Hiccup doesn’t know how he’s breathing, but it’s starting to really hurt. “Pl’se, Mama?”

Hiccup’s arms and shoulders turn to ice. Before he can try anything, Snotlout fumbles for the ice pack. “Cold.”

Hiccup’s heart pounds. Snotlout is blazing with heat, how can he be cold? “I’m sorry. It’s to help you get better,” Hiccup can’t help explaining, “and I’m not…”

Snotlout’s voice is very small. “I’m sorry I made him hurt you, Mama.”

Hiccup gasps, hearing Fishlegs echo it across the room. Hookfang actually starts to flame. “NO, Hookfang!” yells Hiccup.

The dragon subsides, residual flames easily tamped by the sweat-damp quilt. Hookfang stares at Hiccup, growling in outrage. Hiccup swallows. “I know, Hookfang, I know. Shh. We can’t…”

Fishlegs has stopped stirring the medicine. He’s shaking with rage. His voice is a whisper. “I will kill him.”

“I don’t want your eyes to look that way, Mama. I love you. I love you so much.”

Hiccup clenches his jaw, stomach turning. His usually brash cousin sounds so defeated, so vulnerable. Hiccup can’t trust himself to speak. Tears leak from Snotlout’s closed eyes, pooling around his lashes and trickling down his burning cheeks. Hookfang rumbles and nuzzles his face, tongue darting out to lick his tears away.

Snotlout turns his face towards the dragon kisses. “I love you, Mama.”

“Uh, it’s just me.” says Hiccup. He adds awkwardly, “Hiccup.”

 _And me_ , Hookfang croons in Snotlout’s ear _._ Toothless warbles. _I’m here too,_ Meatlug grunts from where she’s standing guard by the door.

“Fishlegs,” Fishlegs smiles sadly, taking up the stirring again. “We’ve got you, Snotlout. You’re safe.”

“Hooky…” Snotlout murmurs, voice a little stronger, deeper. Not so childlike. “Fish…?” He pants for breath. His dragon murmurs. “…Hiccup?”

“Yeah. It’s okay. You’re just running a fever.” The words tumble out of Hiccup, like bad things will happen if he stays quiet for too long. He feels guilty with the relief that swells through him when Snotlout’s voice isn’t so childlike anymore.  “You’re going to be okay, you’re…” Snotlout shudders convulsively, almost throwing off the ice pack. Hiccup swivels to Fish, alarmed. “How long is this gonna last?”

Fishlegs shrugs, intent on his work. “Depends on what’s gotten into his system, how long it’ll take for his body to fight it off. Could be a day and a night, or a few days.”

Hookfang mutters in distress, and Toothless vocalizes. “A few _days?”_ Hiccup repeats. “How are we supposed to keep everyone away for that long?”

“We can let them think Hookfang and Snotlout went back to Berk with h… uh,” Fish trips over the word, “his dad. And uh… You’re holed up in your hut inventing, you always do that… or out exploring somewhere.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll… think of something.” In this moment, Hiccup feels a kinship with Fishlegs stronger than anything he’s felt before. Sure, they both want to help Snotlout, but now here they are, the two worst liars on the entire island, trying to cobble together a story to help out their friend.

He meets Fishlegs’ eyes. The pressure is almost crushing, but Hiccup knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.

In contrast to his hesitant tone, Fishlegs moves confidently towards the ‘bed’. “Help me get this down him.” He directs the instruction to both human and dragon. Meatlug rumbles from where she’s keeping watch by the door. Toothless rises up onto his haunches, offering moral support with big eyes and soft croons as Hookfang lifts Snotlout into a semi-seated position.

Hiccup lays the towel aside, Toothless plucking it smoothly from him, and lets go of Snotlout, stepping away to let Fishlegs get closer. “Hooky…” Snotlout mutters, trying to lift his head. A violent tremor takes him and Hiccup flinches in alarm. Perhaps he should have risked taking Snotlout to Gothi…? But, potentially fatal flight aside, he knows the humiliation that Snotlout would have felt. Knows how hard Snotlout has worked to keep anyone from finding out. How did none of the adults know this? Or help? Indignation flares in Hiccup’s gut. Well—whether or not they know, Hiccup can’t betray Snotlout that way, not when he’s sick and can’t decide for himself.

“Okay. Easy does it.” Fishlegs moves in to Hookfang’s side alongside Hiccup, closer to the dragon’s neck, and cups Snotlout’s head in one big hand. “That’s good, Hookfang. Hiccup, just take his hands in case he makes any sudden moves. Don’t want to spill this.”

Obediently, Hiccup reaches out. He’s put his arm around Snotlout’s shoulder a handful of times when he’s felt Snotlout needed it, to help him feel better and reassure him, but it still feels odd, unfamiliar, to hold his cousin’s hands. Hiccup would feel so much more comfortable putting his arm around Snotlout’s shoulder, but he’s too hurt to touch.

Hiccup takes a deep breath. Snotlout’s not just his kinsman; he’s his teammate. His friend. He’s saved Hiccup’s life many times over, and right now, Snotlout is in pain and helpless with no-one but his friends to rely on, suffering the aftermath of being brutalized by a man who doesn’t deserve the name father. He’s completely vulnerable as he lies there trembling, burning up with fever. Hiccup knows that if this were Tuffnut, he would be holding his hands without hesitation. Then why this discomfort? Is it because Snotlout used to make fun of a younger Hiccup for having feelings and wanting to hold his friends’ hands? Is this resistance rooted in that old resentment? Or is it for all the times his cousin used to break him down with his words and his fists, call him weak and runty and useless? For all the times Snotlout bullied Hiccup till he cried and then made fun of him for crying?

Is Hiccup really going to allow old childhood taunts to have _that_ much power over his life?

He lets his hands close and tighten over Snotlout’s thicker ones. Toothless chirrs encouragingly. “Hey. Snotlout, it’s okay,” Hiccup murmurs, letting the sympathy and support he feels show in his tone. “It’s okay. We’re here, okay? Hookfang’s here, Fishlegs is here, I’m here. We’re all with you. You’re safe, no-one’s gonna hurt you. We’re right here.”

Fishlegs leans in close and lifts the mug to Snotlout’s lips. “Drink up for Thor Bonecrusher,” he says hesitantly. His eyes widen as Snotlout swallows the medicine without complaint. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“Oh, it’ll work,” Hiccup mutters, eyes fixed on his and Snotlout’s joined hands. “He worships the ground Thor walks on, that’s for sure.” He gives Snotlout’s hands a tentative squeeze. “Was that for fever?”

“Yes. Fever and pain. It should start to help with the pain almost immedia…” Hiccup feels the tension drain away from the hands under his. “...yeah, there.”

The pained grimace fades from Snotlout’s face and he visibly relaxes. “Fishlegs, you are amazing,” Hiccup says fervently. Hookfang slumps too. _Gods, he was really wound tight,_ Hiccup thinks. He smiles up at Hookfang, but the dragon has eyes only for his rider. He hitches Snotlout up to lie with his head tucked into the slight curve where underbelly meets neck, then folds a wing over Snotlout’s now-relaxed form, crooning.

Fishlegs shrugs. “It’s just herbs.” Still holding the empty mug, he touches the back of his hand to Snotlout’s forehead, not withdrawing his other one, still cupping Snotlout’s head. “Fever’s gone down a little already.”

“Thank Thor,” Hiccup blurts, relieved.

Still supporting Snotlout’s head, Fishlegs bends to lay the empty mug down on the floor, then straightens up to lay his other hand against Snotlout’s cheek. “This stuff is effective…” Fishlegs’ mouth falls open as Snotlout turns to press his face into his palm. Eyes still closed, he murmurs in contentment, face softening into a tiny smile.

Fishlegs steps closer, letting Snotlout burrow into his hand. Hookfang drapes a wing tighter about his rider and rumbles to them both. “Guess I’m taking this watch, huh?”

Hiccup makes no move to go, still holding Snotlout’s hands. “Uh… maybe I should stay in case you need something…”

“He seems relaxed,” Fish insists. “You go get some sleep, Hiccup. I got this.”

Toothless gives Hiccup a gentle head-butt. _Listen to him._

Hiccup looks down at his and Snotlout’s joined hands. He doesn’t quite want to leave Snotlout with nothing to hold onto. “Uh, I…”

Hookfang rumbles. Hiccup looks up in time to see him slip his other wing, the one that isn’t covering Snotlout, under Fishlegs’ outstretched arms. It’s awkward, but he manages to bring his claw around to where Hiccup’s and Snotlout’s hands are joined. He taps Hiccup’s fingers lightly – _let go –_ and as Hiccup loosens his grip, Hookfang’s claws slide beneath Snotlout’s hands. Hookfang licks and rubs his human’s knuckles as Snotlout’s fingers curl tightly around the thick shaft of his claws. Snotlout smiles, and something in Hiccup’s chest eases. “Hooky…” Snotlout sighs.

Hiccup can only take a step back and stare as Hookfang’s claws tighten around his human’s hands. He licks Snotlout’s face on the cheek that’s not pressed into Fishlegs’ palm, and Snotlout murmurs happily, fumbling to hold as much of Hookfang’s claws as he can possibly get his hands around. His giant, terrifying dragon purrs and croons to him. _I’m here with you. I’m here. I’m here._

Toothless slides his head under Hiccup’s arm and Hiccup almost staggers. “Okay, guys.” Hiccup’s suddenly bone-tired. “If you need anything…”

“I’ll wake you,” says Fishlegs. “Go.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Hiccup? Are you in there?”

“Astrid!”

Hiccup bolts up into wakefulness, hitting his head on the underside of Toothless’ chin.  _ WATCH IT!  _ comes the dragon admonition. “Sorry, bud! COMING, ASTRID!” He scrambles up and fumbles for his prosthetic, Toothless helping him with the leather thongs as he straps it on. Flailing and galvanized with the horror that she may get tired of waiting and barge in, Hiccup yells, “I’m coming! I’m coming!” and practically flings himself down the stairs. Three steps down, he trips over his own metal leg and nearly falls on his face. Warm black scales break his fall.  _ Not so fast,  _ Toothless grunts.

Hiccup tumbles over his friend’s neck, then jogs past Hookfang and his human companions, scared Astrid will open the door without permission. “Oh…” he starts guiltily as he gets to the door: Meatlug is sleeping curled up tight against the wood, so no-one can get in unless she lets them. “Meatlug?”

She opens sleepy eyes and rolls to the side, allowing Hiccup to open the door. He slides it open a slit and slips out, almost slamming it on Toothless’ tail as the dragon follows him. Toothless smacks him in the head with his fin, snapping  _ hey, watch the tail!  _ He continues dragon-lecturing, waving his tail about.  _ You want to rip off the fin I have left? _

“Sorry, bud.” Hiccup bends to Toothless and brushes his cheek to the top of the dragon’s head before standing to face the music. “Hi, Astrid!” Hiccup grins manically. He’s reminded vividly of the time she came to him in the forge, back when he was still learning to ride Toothless. Only this time, it’s not his own secret he’s keeping. “Hi, Astrid,” he repeats, his grin slipping a little. He hitches it up. “Hi, Astrid.” He tries not to grimace with how his voice cracks on that last ‘Hi, Astrid.’

Astrid leans into his face, one hand on her hip. “What are you hiding?”

“Hiding?! Me? Hiding! Why would you think I was hiding?” He shrugs in what he hopes is a show of honesty. “I mean what would I be hiding?” Hiccup inhales deeply. “I’m not Astrid anything, hiding.”

Astrid’s shoulders slump in resignation. “It’s a new invention, isn’t it.” It’s not a question.  _ “Please _ don’t tell me it’s another flying machine.”

Toothless grunts and rolls his eyes the way he does when Hiccup invents something dangerous. Hiccup is so grateful for the support, he could kiss the dragon. Toothless rumbles and smacks Hiccup’s head with his tailfin. Now Hiccup is a little less grateful – but still grateful. He laughs, and doesn’t have to fake his embarrassment. “Uh…”

“It  _ is  _ another flying machine!”

“No! No, it’s not!” Hiccup is kicking himself. Why can’t he just say yes? “But I  _ am  _ working on something. Something I can’t show you just yet.”

“I swear to Odin, Hiccup, if this ends up being something that will get you killed, that dragon,” Astrid points to Toothless, who warbles  _ who, me?  _ “won’t be able to protect you, Night Fury or no Night Fury!”

“Astrid, Astrid!” Hiccup sounds so hearty he could kick himself. “Why do you always assume the worst?”

“Because it always  _ is _ the worst, with you. I ought to just go in there and—”

She takes a step forward and Toothless  _ growls. _

Toothless’ eyes widen and he sits up straight. If he were human, he’d have clapped a hand over his mouth. There’s no surer way to let Astrid know something is up. Hiccup wants to groan, but refrains. Toothless is supposed to be the  _ good _ liar.

Astrid stills. She glances from one to the other, arms crossing over her chest. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll let it go for now. But  _ you,”  _ she glares at the dragon, “had better not be helping him find new ways to get himself killed!”

Toothless gives her his best innocent, wide-eyed warble. “Nice try,” Astrid retorts. Toothless responds by turning his face up to her and gives her Cute Manipulative Look #33, complete with full-moon pupils. Hiccup’s heart flutters a little in his chest to see it, but Astrid is made of sterner stuff. “We’ll see,” she retorts, as if Toothless has just spoken. She fixes Hiccup with a stare. “So, are we going out on our recon flight this morning, or are you working on your new mystery project?”

“Mysteryproject!” Hiccup blurts. “It should be done soon,” he mumbles, wilting beneath her glare.

“Hmpf.” Astrid taps her foot angrily, giving Hiccup a Look. “I’ll see if Fishlegs wants to come with me.”

“Ah…” Too late, Hiccup realizes he shouldn’t have opened his mouth, so he closes it again. Toothless is giving him a half-lidded glare.  _ Can’t you keep your mouth shut for two minutes? _

“‘Ah’? ‘Ah’ what _ ,  _ Hiccup?” Hiccup bites his lip. Nope. Not saying anything. “‘Ah’  _ what _ _?”_ Nope. Not happening. “Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third! ‘Ah’,  **_what_ ** _?!” _

“Nothing!” Hiccup gives what he hopes is a disarming smile. “Just, um! Fishlegs might… might be helping me with my project too.”

“Oh.” Astrid folds her arms. “Oh, I see what’s going on.”

Toothless chirrs uneasily, eyes flitting between them.

“You—you do?”

“Of course I do.” Astrid leans in close. “You and Fishlegs get to  _ geek out,  _ inventing new toys, while the rest of us knock ourselves out protecting the Edge. You know what,  _ fine,”  _ she spits, turning on her heel. “Maybe  _ Snotlout  _ will want to come with me,” she throws behind her as she strides away.

“Uh…”

Astrid freezes, back to Hiccup. She speaks without turning.  _ “What?”  _ He does not like how tense her shoulders are.

“He’s… actually he stayed with his, uh his dad, b—back on Berk?” Hiccup wishes everyone would turn their back on him while he’s lying to them. It makes it so much easier. That sounded really plausible, he congratulates himself. Why is Toothless covering his eyes with his front paw?

“Hiccup, he wasn’t  _ on  _ Berk.” Astrid turns again to face Hiccup. Right. Oh, Thor. “He was on that Gods-forsaken island in the middle of nowhere!”

“I mean, went! Went with his dad, to Berk.” Hiccup makes flying motions with his hands. Astrid keeps her glare trained on him. “To Berk… for a few days…” His voice is petering out. He gives her what he hopes is a bright smile. “Oi, oi, oi?”

Astrid’s mouth narrows into a tight line. “Have it your way, Hiccup.” Her eyes are piercing. “For now. But I  _ am  _ going to find out what’s going on.”

* * *

Hiccup sags with relief as Astrid stalks away, fuming. “That was close, bud,” he breathes, too low for her to hear. “Thanks for the backup.”

Toothless responds by nosing Hiccup up onto his back and butting the door open.  _ Let’s just relieve Fish and see how they are.  _ He looks back where Astrid has gone and rumbles. I  _ don’t think she’s going to give up that easily. _

“But I thought it went well,” Hiccup says, looking into his friend’s green eyes. Toothless’ eyelids droop and the dragon shakes his head. “…No?”

Hiccup slides off his friend’s back as his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior. Fishlegs is asleep, slumped back against Meatlug’s side – she must have left her post at the door when he and Toothless made their exit. Hiccup is struck by a surge of panic.  _ Too many people. Too many dragons.  _ Toothless croons.  _ You okay?  _

Hiccup takes a deep breath. It’s a bit silly to think about a violation of need-to-know in relation to the dragons, he tells himself. All the dragons have seen them arrive, and it’s not like they’ll be telling anyone on Berk. “Hey, Meatlug. Thanks for the guard duty,” Hiccup whispers. “Shh. I’m not going to wake them.”

Snotlout is lying on the side opposite to the one he fell asleep on, breathing shallowly, facing away from Fishlegs. Hookfang’s wing is draped over him, pulled up to his chin; both of Snotlout’s hands are wrapped around Hookfang’s claw, fingers and talons intertwined in a loving tangle on the dragon’s stomach.

Bright yellow Nightmare eyes blink down at him, shining in the dimness. Warmth washes over Hiccup. “Hey, Hookfang,” he breathes. “You are such a good guy – uh, dragon.” He smiles up at the Nightmare. “You’re such a good friend to him. Thank you.”

Hookfang rumbles and rolls his eyes.  _ Like I’d leave him to die. _

Toothless quarks, and Hiccup glances at him to see him staring up at Hookfang, eyes wide, pupils half-narrowed questioningly.  _ You’ve always said it’s shame to care…? _

Hookfang’s jawline softens into an unmistakable smile, and his shoulders seem to… shrug? His head tilts down to Snotlout, and he busses his cheek softly and licks him like a dam grooming a hatchling.

Toothless’ pupils blow completely round, and he purrs and gives the Nightmare a dragon smile.

Letting the dragons talk, Hiccup takes a tentative step towards Snotlout. “Could you lift your wing so I can check on him?” Obediently, Hookfang angles his wing up, never letting his claw slip out of Snotlout’s hands. Hiccup ducks under the wing to check. The bandages seem tighter than they were yesterday, but there’s no blood. “Okay…”

He circles round Hookfang so he can see Snotlout’s face, Toothless padding warm and silent at his side. Snotlout seems peaceful, except for the rapid breathing. Hiccup lays the back of his hand on his forehead – and snatches it away. He’s searing hot. “Dammit. Fishlegs,” Hiccup calls. “Fever’s up again.” He hates to wake his friend, but it’s urgent. “Fishlegs!”

* * *

Astrid sidles around Hiccup’s hut on the eastern side. She well and truly smells a rat. Geeking out is one thing, but this feels like they’re keeping secrets. And she can’t  _ stand  _ secrets. Secrets mess with the team dynamic. They create security holes. They can get people killed.

Screw it. She just can’t stand secrets.

Back to the planks of Hiccup’s hut, she slides along the outside wall, waiting. It takes her a while to find an opening. She has to stay downwind of the interior so Toothless won’t catch her scent through the cracks, which he’s perfectly capable of doing, and she has to find a place where sound will reach her. It would be  _ super ideal  _ to find a crack she can see through, but she can’t count on getting that lucky. Still, she scopes out the joins between the planks. They get a lot of rain here on the Edge, enough to warp even the toughest wood by a few fractions of an inch.

_ There _ . There’s a crack. Right there. One crack. And one is all she needs.

The sun has moved higher in the sky by the time she’s made her way to her ideal spot. She can already hear murmurs, if not make out words, and the crevice between the planks is maybe twelve to fifteen paces away. She just needs to creep quietly enough to slip under Toothless’ hunting senses.

Astrid is a few paces from the crack, inching ever closer, when she starts to make out words.

“…move Hookfang…” that’s Hiccup’s voice. Hookfang’s dragon rumble comes through, shaking the walls of the hut. She’s been hearing it as she sidled around, but dismissed it as a wild Nightmare, since Hiccup said Snotlout was with Hookfang on Berk. Now, however, the sound is unmistakable. Hiding Hookfang from her? Why would they do that?

“…fix the bandages.”

“Hookfang, could you move your wing?”

“Fishlegs,” Astrid breathes, inaudible. Something’s really wrong. This isn’t some kind of project. ‘Bandages’? The way their tones are soft and urgent, filled with concern, means they’re hiding something serious. And where’s Meatlug? Now Astrid listens, she can hear a Gronckle’s snuffly breathing from the door. Meatlug’s standing sentry? Her fists clench. It’s more serious than she thought.

Hiccup and Fishlegs continue to murmur in low tones, fussing around Hookfang. So the dragon’s hurt – bad enough to need bandages – and Hiccup and Fishlegs are taking care of him instead of his rider? Hiccup lied to her, telling her Snotlout’s  _ with  _ Hookfang on Berk. Covering for Snotlout while he’s gallivanting off to Berk with his dad and leaving his sick dragon alone? She clenches her fists. Oh, she’ll have a thing or two to say to Snotlout when he gets back. With her axe.

Another step closer. Hookfang is whining pitifully, as if he’s in pain. Her gut twists to hear it. Who hurt the dragon so badly? What’s wrong with poor Hookfang? 

A wave of disappointment washes over Astrid. She has to pause in her careful creeping for a moment. She can barely believe how unhappy, how let down, she feels, that Snotlout isn’t here with his dragon. Astrid has known for a long time that Snotlout’s changed, changed from an unpleasant, disrespectful bully to someone who’ll give his life for his friends, clinging only to old habits out of some kind of misplaced resistance, not because he really believes the things he used to say anymore. But now, it seems like she was wrong to trust him. Hookfang is prickly, but everyone knows he cares for Snotlout – care that’s misplaced, if his rider has swanned off and left the others to help when he’s injured.

The disappointment weighs down on her chest like a stone. She hates to admit it, but she…  _ likes  _ Snotlout. She cares for him. He’s family. Family who needs a bitch-slap every now and then, but still family for all that. And she knows he’d take an arrow for her. Or  _ knew,  _ before  _ this _ .

It’s a little disorienting, to be honest. Her instincts are rarely wrong, and when they are, they aren’t  _ this  _ wrong.  Fishlegs and Hiccup are still murmuring, Astrid catching about one word out of every three. Fish is explaining something to Hiccup about needing to re-wrap the bandages on account of swelling. Hiccup talks about undoing bandages and unconsciousness. Astrid can’t see how they think Hookfang is unconscious with the amount of vocalizing and honking he’s doing, Toothless warbling and purring to him in what she’s come to recognize as the Night Fury’s attempt to calm another dragon.

“What’s really worrying is the fever,” Fishlegs’ voice rings out quite clearly. “The… uh, the other injuries wouldn’t be worrying in themselves.”

“Are you sure?” Hiccup has that tone he gets when he’s trying to hide how worried he is… well, he always did have a soft spot for dragons. Astrid didn’t know dragons could get fevers, but live and learn. “The skin’s broken… in some places it’s…” his voice lowers and Astrid can’t make it out. “And there’s so much of it…”

Astrid inches closer to the crack in the wood. Skin? Dragons have scales. Hiccup must be really confused…

“Yeah,” says Fishlegs, “and I hate to say it, but he’s clearly taken abuse like this before and healed okay. Even the salt did more good than harm because it was washed off immediately. The wild card here is the exposure.”

“I can’t believe he left him out in the cold like that!”

Wait, what?  _ Who  _ left  _ whom?  _ Astrid really needs to see what in Midgard is going on in there. Snotlout left Hookfang? That doesn’t make any sense. What was to keep the dragon from leaving wherever he was being kept? Was he restrained, maybe some kind of incident with dragon trappers that they’re not telling her about? But why would Hiccup and Fishlegs keep quiet about  _ dragon trappers _ ?

“Hiccup, I know it’s a pain, but we have to loosen the bandages. There’s a lot of swelling. It’s my fault. I should have realized the, uh… the injuries would swell up. I should have made allowance for it.”

“That’s okay, Fishlegs. You’re doing really great. Hookfang will help, won’t you? We got this.” Hiccup’s trying to sound encouraging, but he’s always been really terrible at concealing how he really feels… Astrid starts to burn with worry. She closes the last few feet between herself and the gap in the wall, steeling herself for whatever she’s going to see. Pressing her face to the wooden surface, she closes her left eye and brings her right one flush to the crack between the boards.

For the first few moments, there’s nothing but darkness. She waits, patiently, cupping her hands around her eye to help her vision adjust, careful to remain completely still so the people and dragons inside won’t be alerted by the motion of her shadow or the scent stirred up by her moving.

Slowly, the darkness resolves. Hookfang is lying on his back. So the dragon  _ is  _ injured—

It’s a good thing she steeled herself, or she’d have gasped out loud. Instead the sound is caught behind her clenched teeth.

Snotlout is lying face-down on his dragon’s stomach, asleep or unconscious, Hiccup and Fishlegs working on him with what looks like salve and bandages. He’s undressed, only a sheet covering his private parts. His arms and the back of his neck catch the pale sunlight slanting in through a hole in the roof, but his back is dark with…

Astrid recoils. Her hand flies to her mouth, the extra light dimming her view for a moment as she brings her eye back flush to the gap. No amount of darkness can hide what she sees.

Snotlout’s torso is so swollen it makes Astrid’s stomach turn. His back and sides are puffy red and purple, flayed raw in places. His bandages are partly uncovered, to reveal his body – even his legs – scored with welts from some sort of whip. Some are scabbed over, some still shiny and bleeding sluggishly. The side of his face that she can see is damp with sweat: he’s flushed with fever.

Astrid shudders. She’s read of inter-clan warfare, and seen the drawings of Vikings whipped and tortured by enemies. She has just… never seen it in person before.

And never on a friend.

She slides her knuckle into her mouth and bites down as she watches Hookfang lift his rider while Hiccup and Fishlegs finish their task, unwrapping the bandages from around his torso. The dragon croons unhappily, softer than she’s ever heard him, and licks his rider’s face.  _ Who could have done this? _ she thinks. Her money’s on Viggo. Ryker is a man for fists rather than lashes. But Viggo is no less cruel, and no matter what Hiccup thinks about him being an honorable opponent, Astrid wouldn’t put it past him to have their friend brutalized this way – on his order if not with his own hands. Bile rises in her throat.

She bites her knuckle harder. How, she wonders, could Hiccup and Fishlegs hide this from her and the twins? Isn’t it Hiccup’s duty as their leader to warn the Riders what they’re getting into when they go up against the dragon hunters? How could he keep this a secret? Oh, she is  _ so _ going to have words with Hiccup when she sees him.

“Oh no,” Fish’s voice filters through the wooden boards. “The bandage is stuck to his back.”

“What do we do?” Hiccup asks nervously.

“Toothless, could you… thanks…” She can’t see everything Fish is doing, but Toothless must have handed him a dipper of water, because she hears faint splashing. “We soak them till they come off. If we pull them off, it’ll tear off,” Fishlegs swallows, “uh… the skin with it. What--uh, well, what skin he has left.”

Even in the half-light, Astrid can see Hiccup shudder. She feels a little queasy herself. “How could anyone do that to their own kid?” he whispers. Still staring at them working, Astrid wonders idly what Hiccup’s talking about. And what it has to do with what they’re doing.

She’s still brain-dead, in a daze, when the thoughts slide into her head and click into place without warning. About how they were on the island together, and how scared Snotlout was when he told her and Hiccup to leave, and how reluctant Hookfang was to leave him alone with his father, and…

Suddenly, there’s an explosion of ice in Astrid’s brain, trickling down her temples as sweat and making her headband feel too tight. She can’t think.

If she  _ did  _ think, she’d have to think that Spitelout Jorgenson has dealt his only son and heir a flogging so ferocious that he’s bedridden – that a respected council member and head of a prominent Berkian clan has beat  _ his own son _ so badly it’s taking four nurses, two human and two dragon, just to tend his wounds and keep his fever down.

Which means – if it were true – that their friend isn’t just badly hurt… he’s  _ dangerously  _ hurt. By his own  _ father. _

Astrid swallows, throat suddenly dry. Not a minute ago, she was thinking ‘how could they hide this from us’. But now,  _ How  _ gives way to  _ Why. _

No. No no no no no. It must be a misunderstanding. She turns back to the crack in the wood. After all, it doesn’t even make sense. Snotlout is forever singing his dad’s praises and those of the Jorgensons. Sure, he’s strict and Snotlout will do pretty much anything rather than make Spitelout mad, but he won’t hear a word against his father and he worships the ground Spitelout walks on. It makes zero sense that this could have happened.

Although, now she thinks about it, when Spitelout arrived on the Edge, Snotlout was all enthusiastic to see him, sure… but she did happen to be watching Snotlout do his training exercises when his father arrived, and she distinctly remembers seeing him  _ cringe.  _ Like his dad’s arrival was a surprise, and not a pleasant one.

But that doesn’t mean  _ this! _ Spitelout’s a  _ council member!  _ He’s a  _ war hero!  _ He  _ wouldn’t!  _ There must be some mistake, she decides. They’re keeping it a secret for some other reason… some reason other than it’s a family secret.

She blinks, the boys a blur in her line of sight as they work on the frighteningly still body before them. She remembers dismissing her observation when Snotlout pasted a big smile on his face, and turned: now that wasn’t faked. He was enthused to see his dad. And he was bursting with pride to be entrusted with that stupid axe. And then he was careless enough to lose it.

Careless enough, her mind can’t help asking, to be whipped within an inch of his life for his failure? And was he really careless? Snotlout fought so hard to get that axe back, risking his own life and hers and Hiccup’s to get it back. Was he careless? Or reckless? She shakes her head. That’s not important right now. Because even if he  _ were  _ careless… no amount of carelessness would merit… well,  _ this. _

Is this a family secret? Astrid shakes her head again as the boys’ voices inside drone on, punctuated by dragon comments. Vikings guard their private affairs jealously…. So it would make sense to hide it, her mind keeps circling round, if it  _ was  _ a Jorgenson secret… But… no, it can’t be. Being  _ brutalized?  _ By his own  _ father?  _ It just can’t be. Because that would mean this isn’t the first time. Nobody just hauls off and beats their kid half to death the first time the kid messes up. That would mean that Snotlout… Ever since they were kids…

She shakes her head and takes a step back, almost falling off the platform. The shock brings her to her senses.  _ No,  _ she tells herself sternly. She’s not going to think of a respected elder of Berk this way. It’s got to be a misunderstanding on her part.

“Should be loosened enough now,” Fishlegs is instructing. “Hookfang?”

Recovering, Astrid moves close to the crack again so she can see what’s going on. The dragon lifts the patient off his stomach – it scares Astrid how limp and lifeless Snotlout looks – and Fishlegs positions himself behind Snotlout, unwinding the bandages, assisted by Hiccup, who’s positioned at Snotlout’s front. Together, they ease them carefully off. Not carefully enough, it seems. Part of the fabric binding sticks to a place on his back where the skin is – Great Odin, is his skin  _ torn off? –  _ and Snotlout shudders and blurts a slurred, “I’m sorry!”

It hurts to see Snotlout so vulnerable. Astrid wants him to be brash and disrespectful and insulting. But he’s gulping back sobs, and sounding terrified. “No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Hiccup is trying to reassure him, but it doesn’t seem to be working. “It’s just us. Me and Fishlegs. You’re at the Edge, you’re okay, you’re safe…”

“I didn’t mean to, Da...” Snotlout’s voice rises to a yell. “Please don’t!”

His arms flail and Hiccup grabs his wrists. “Hold still!” At the touch, Snotlout cries out. The sound makes Astrid cringe.

“Hiccup, not his wrists, they’re hurt!” Fishlegs darts out from behind the bed and grabs Snotlout’s upper arms. Hiccup lets go, but too late: Snotlout has started yelling incoherently and thrashing. Astrid bites down on her knuckle. She knows as well as anyone that fevers can kill… and her friend must be running a  _ raging  _ fever to be this far gone. Is Snotlout’s life in danger? Her heart is pounding. His own kin would never do that to him… would they?

“Fishlegs, do something!” yells Hiccup. Toothless nudges him and he bends, disappearing from Astrid’s view.

“He’s burning up!” Fishlegs snaps back, voice sharp and clear of its usual diffidence. “I can leave you here and go get something to bring it down, or I can help you hold him down before he hurts himself!”

Hookfang grunts, jerking his head for the other two to pay attention to his rider’s reaction. Snotlout is shrinking away from the loud voices, eyes screwed tight shut. He’s stopped thrashing, but Astrid feels sick at the pallor in his face, the way his shoulders are raised as if bracing himself for a blow.  “It was my fault,” he breathes, eyes still shut tight. “I deserve this.” Snotlout chokes, gulping down large breaths of air. Fishlegs tries to put a gentle hand on Snotlout’s shoulder, maybe to help him calm down, but Snotlout blurts out, “Th--thank you for--for taking th…” He draws in a wheezing breath, voice strained and unnatural. “The trouble to p-punish me.”

Astrid’s stomach roils. She has to turn away for a moment, letting her unfocused eyes take in the trees and the blue sky. Snotlout’s normally brash voice was so small, so hurt and vulnerable. And… and he was saying…

She shakes her head and turns back to watch. Fishlegs is looking up at Hookfang and instructing the dragon to do something Astrid can’t hear. Hookfang grunts and replaces Fishlegs’ grip with his own claws, curling them carefully around Snotlout’s arms. “Okay, I’ll be right back,” Fishlegs rasps out, and dashes off. A moment later she can hear Meatlug’s telltale _ whup-whup-whup  _ receding into the distance.

Toothless warbles and holds up a block of ice in his teeth. Hiccup bends and does something, reappearing with a leather gourd filled, presumably, with the broken-up ice, since he puts it on Snotlout’s head. “How did we forget that?” Hiccup shakes his head in self-disgust. “What would I do without you, bud?”

Toothless forgoes his usual sarcasm and warbles, the sound matter-of-fact and supportive. Hiccup presses the ice pack to Snotlout’s head with his left hand, laying his right over where Hookfang’s claw is curled around Snotlout’s upper arm.

In the silence, Snotlout struggles. “It’s okay, Snotlout,” says Hiccup. He takes Snotlout’s hands in his. “It’s okay. We’re here. You’re okay.” Hiccup’s voice sounds strained, and Astrid doesn’t wonder.

Snotlout pulls against Hookfang’s claws, tentatively at first, then harder. She can see the precise moment he realizes he’s restrained: he stops fighting and starts to sob, little lost sounds in the open structure of Hiccup’s hut.  _ Let him loose, idiots!  _ Astrid thinks furiously, the words caught painfully in her throat, but they don’t. Toothless croons and Hookfang rumbles, but they keep him held fast.

“See? We’re with you,” Hiccup tries for a smile. Astrid can’t blame him that it falls flat. But she does blame him for what Snotlout says a moment later.

“I’m sorry, Dad… I’m sorry,” Snotlout’s eyes fly open, staring at something only he can see. “I’ll do better! I won’t let you down again.” His voice rises in pitch, sounding like a much younger version of himself, one Astrid remembers from when they still used to fight dragons. “I promise!”

“Snotlout, you’re not with him anymore. You’re here with us. You’re safe,” Hiccup keeps talking, but they still have him  _ fucking held down, dammit!  _ Astrid is itching to barge in there and smack some sense into them. Hookfang’s tight hold is clearly making Snotlout relive something horrible... something... from his childhood? Wait… Does this mean she  _ believes  _ it?

And in the instant she’s thought that, Snotlout crumples. “I’m sorry. I know I… I earned this. Don’t... don’t tie me down, da... I can... I can take it like a man.”

Astrid’s gasp is drowned out by Hookfang’s bark of shock. The big claws let go of Snotlout so suddenly he falls forward. Hiccup jumps up and catches him, grabbing his forearms and letting Snotlout’s head fall against his stomach. “Snotlout.” Hiccup’s voice is ragged. “You’re here with us on the Edge. We’re in my hut. You’re safe. It’s okay.” There’s no response. “Snotlout, can you hear me?!”

But Snotlout’s not listening; as soon as he’s released from the restraining grip, he moans in relief and starts to babble. “Thank you thank you thank you. I won’t move a muscle, Dad. I won’t make you regret it, I promise. You won’t need to get the whip, I promise, I promise…”

Astrid covers her mouth. A ragged sound bursts from Hiccup’s throat. Blindly, he fumbles for the gourd of ice, settling it at the back of Snotlout’s neck since the crown of Snotlout’s head is braced up against Hiccup’s body, and holding it there. He squirms again and whines pitifully. “I can take it, Da… I can take it. Don’t---please,” he shudders and starts to sob. His breathing is uneven and heavy. “I’m sorry!” he cries, moving desperately in Hiccup’s hold. “I’m sorry!” He jerks and spasms in Hiccup’s arms, letting out cries of pain between heart-stopping sobs, and making an odd motion with his head and hands.

Hiccup takes a step back, keeping Snotlout’s head steady. “What are you doing?” Hiccup asks, his own breathing picking up in panic. “Stop—Stop moving,” he orders, sounding on the edge of tears.

Astrid suddenly gets an idea what Snotlout’s trying to do – she’s seen the motion before. He’s trying to brush away tears. Only he can’t: the open wounds on his back and sides are too large and overlapping. She can’t imagine how it must hurt to even try to move his arms.

With a last desperate effort, Snotlout wrenches his arms high enough for his fingertips to brush his cheeks. Gods. He  _ is  _ trying to wipe away his tears. He’s starting to gasp with the exertion, but still he tries, his movements growing more desperate every time he’s forced to drop his arms in pain. And then he lets his arms fall. “I’m sorry!” he wails. “It hurts!” He ducks his head. “It hurts… please… I can’t take anymore.” He slumps more, voice wrecked. “I’m weak… useless…” he inhales shakily, “…a disappointment.”

He doesn’t get any further, because Hiccup puts his hands on either side of his cousin’s head and squeezes Snotlout’s head tight to his chest. “No, Snotlout, no!” he yells. “You’re not any of those things!”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Astrid sees Hiccup touch Snotlout’s forehead and snatch his hand away, eyes widening. Snotlout’s throat grates with a helpless sob. “I know I’m a disgrace to the Jorgenson name…”

“He’s lying if he told you that!” Hiccup shouts. “Do you hear me? Listen to me! Snap out of it!”

But Snotlout only cringes. Hookfang rumbles, bending his head sorrowfully to his rider. Astrid’s own throat betrays her with a small sound, but it’s drowned out by the others’ voices, Toothless nuzzling Hiccup’s waist and adding his own croon to the mix. “It—it’s Hiccup,” Hiccup whispers, finally lowering his voice. Still applying pressure on the ice pack, he moves in closer. Snotlout’s makeshift bed on Hookfang’s stomach is high enough that all Hiccup has to do is bend his knees slightly to guide Snotlout’s head down to rest on his shoulder. He holds the ice pack there, stroking Snotlout’s hair as much as he can. Astrid can see him raise his other hand, hovering, afraid to touch his cousin’s injuries. He finally settles a hand on Snotlout’s upper arm. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “it’s okay. No-one’s going to hurt you,” he swallows, then breathes in deep through his nose. “No-one’s gonna hurt you anymore,” he vows, and bends to press his cheek against the top of Snotlout’s head, face set and serious. “I promise.”

Hookfang starts up a rumbling purr, nosing down at his rider and licking his face, Hiccup straightening to make room for him. At the touch, Snotlout opens his eyes, turning his head sideways. Even from where Astrid’s standing, she can see his eyes are glassy: wherever he is, it isn’t here.

“Hookfang,” Snotlout whispers, voice hitching. “Sorry… you had to see that.”

Hiccup makes an inarticulate sound. Astrid echoes it.

“Guess this means it’s over, huh?” Snotlout whispers, rubbing his cheek against the Nightmare’s scaly chin, his pained grimace melting into a soft half-smile. “You didn’t have to stay, Hooky…” Hookfang purrs louder and nuzzles him. “It really hurt this time, Hookfang,” sighs Snotlout. “Probably got to stay in bed for a while… Guess I’ll have to tell them I’m sick again…”

Snotlout turns his head sideways against Hiccup’s chest, and Hiccup rubs a hand over his head, grimacing at, Astrid guesses, his fever. “He comes for me every time,” Snotlout says casually, as if he’s suddenly perfectly okay with Hiccup being there. Astrid’s teeth dig into her knuckle. Snotlout sounds coherent, but he is  _ not _ conscious. “After. He takes care of me.”

“Hookfang’s a good friend,” Hiccup breathes helplessly. Astrid can hear the relief in Hiccup’s voice, probably from Snotlout finally calming down. At least he’s not thrashing around anymore.

Hookfang burbles and pushes his chin into Snotlout’s cheek. Then he flicks out his tongue and pushes the dual-bulbed end into the side of Snotlout’s neck, tickling. “Hookfang!” Snotlout giggles, his face softening into a smile. He meets the dragon’s eyes, and for a moment he looks nothing but young and happy. Toothless and Hiccup watch with identical dropping jaws, and Astrid knows she’s echoing their expressions. She hasn’t seen Snotlout do that since they were kids…   

Hiccup settles a hand on Snotlout’s upper arm. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “it’s okay.” Hiccup squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head: Astrid knows how Hiccup uses the word as a mantra when things are anything but okay but he’ll shift Valhalla to Midgard to make it so.

“Wait—what are you doing here?” Snotlout is staring at Hiccup with wide eyes.

Hiccup takes a step back, hands held up. “It’s okay, Snotlout. Don’t panic!”

Astrid wants to cover her eyes. She shouldn’t be seeing this at all. The panic is already there, in Hiccup’s voice. And sure enough, Snotlout panics, rearing back. “You can’t know! You can’t know!” The movement causes pain, and he gasps, eyes darting around the room. “You can’t,” his voice rises in pitch and cracks, “you  _ can’t know!” _

Hiccup grabs Snotlout’s upper arms. “Snotlout, snap out of it!” he yells in his battle voice. Hookfang pulls his head back to meet Hiccup’s eyes and growls like Hiccup is the threat. Toothless rears up, not spreading his wings but coming level with the larger dragon, crooning to him.

Just as Hookfang’s growls subside, Fishlegs bursts in, Meatlug’s wings still whirring outside. “I got it!” Fishlegs calls. He pauses a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene; then he rushes to Snotlout. “Here. Drink it down.”

Snotlout jerks backwards. “Fishlegs?” he gasps. “No!” He crumples, moaning. “No, no, no, no, no…”

Hookfang butts his head against his rider, purring forcefully. Astrid can almost hear him instructing  _ Do what the humans say. _

“I don’t want you to know!” Snotlout says helplessly as Fishlegs rounds Hookfang and comes up next to him and Hiccup. “How are you here?  _ How are you here?” _

“Has he been like this—”

“Since you left, yeah,” Hiccup nods. “Go on,” he says, an edge in his voice, “drink up for Thor Bonecrusher.”

Snotlout stares. “Thor Bone… He hasn’t b… Uh… no, wh…?” His eyes widen. Then he says in a very small voice, “My head hurts.”

Fishlegs uses Snotlout’s confusion to cup his head in one hand and practically force the drink down his throat with the other. Some sort of fever remedy if Astrid had to guess. Snotlout looks from Hiccup to Fishlegs, then his eyes slip shut and he slumps. “Is he okay?” Hiccup asks worriedly.

“The fever really took it out of him,” Fishlegs explains, arranging their unconscious friend more comfortably. “We’re gonna need to feed him some broth or something. When he can handle it. Or it’s gonna eat him up.”

“Yeah.” Hiccup nods uneasily. Astrid remembers how Hiccup was – a small, sickly child, no stranger to fevers, at least when they were very young. He’d know.

“A little to the side, Hookfang—yeah, that’s perfect. Good job with the purring, by the way.” Fishlegs smiles up at the dragon, and if it’s forced, who can blame him? “It should go down soon. C’mon, Hiccup. This is a good time to redo the bandages.” He grimaces. “I won’t mess it up like last time.”

As Hookfang lifts Snotlout and the humans, with Toothless and Meatlug, start to do the bandaging again, Astrid slips away. She’s seen enough.

* * *

She spends three days retrieving frozen yak chops from their cold storage on the mountainside and making broth for the entire Edge, pretending she’s got a yen for it. Broth is within Astrid’s cooking skills: throw the meat into boiling water with some salt. She pretends she doesn’t notice Hiccup and Fishlegs sneaking some of it away. Every time they come back with an empty bowl, she feels herself fed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill by now: Graphic violence, PTSD, the whole shebang. 10Blue10 is the source of the dragon names. This chapter is veryvery short, but more to come. Wren is my fave reader on the AO3. Thursday26 is the world's best editor bar none and I love them.

_Bossy humans,_  thinks Hookfang.

Hiccup and Fishlegs insisted Hookfang get out to stretch his wings and relieve himself. He could have held it in for longer! He hasn't been eating much, or drinking all that much, so he doesn't need to go outside like some common pet! In any case, dragons are able to hold it in for days.

To be honest, Hookfang doesn't feel secure being away from his partner when he's so weak. He can't get rid of the fear that if he leaves Snotlout to lie on the human coverings instead of securely on his stomach – if he leaves Snotlout at all, even for a moment – he may come back to find his condition has worsened. The last time Hookfang left him— _abandoned him,_  a voice in his head whispers—he found Snotlout bleeding, hanging by his wrists.  _Half-dead._  He sees it every time he closes his eyes.

He sees it now, too, but Hiccup-Queen insisted, and Hookfang knows he couldn't have put off relieving himself indefinitely. So he lifted Snotlout gently in his claws – he was so afraid, so afraid he'd hurt him, so afraid he'd break his fragile human – and lowered him to the pile of blankets and bedclothes Hiccup-Queen and Fish-human had prepared. Snotlout was under the influence of a sleeping-draught, still burning with fever, and he barely stirred as he was moved, except to murmur Hookfang's name and fumble for his snout. Hookfang's heart wrenched in his chest to hear it. He crouched to his little brother, nuzzling him and speaking reassurances, hoping Hiccup might forget about making him leave the room after all. "Go on, Hookfang," Hiccup said gently, giving him a little shove. "We'll take good care of him. I promise."

Before he left, Hookfang nuzzled Snotlout's soft little human face and whispered  _beloved beloved beloved._  Then he straightened, shaking out his shoulders for the first time in days. If Snotlout had said 'Don't leave me' as he did once before during a bad dream, not even Hiccup-Queen could have moved Hookfang from his side, but he slept on, still burning with the human sick-fire. "Just move around for a few minutes," Fish-human said, meeting Hookfang's eyes. "I'll call you right back if he needs anything."

Hookfang still admires how neither of the humans flinched when he blew steam out of his nostrils and growled, as if to make them promise. It can't be him; he knows he's still intimidating, capable of snapping them up in a single bite. "Promise," Hiccup-Queen repeated sincerely.

* * *

And so he's out here, having freshened up his marks on their territory and snapped up what must be a week's worth of fish. He's just about to head in when Toothless-Queen trots over, followed by Stormfly coming in for a landing. "How is he?"

"Not well." Hookfang wishes his answer were different. "But the humans say he will be."

Stormfly steps forward and nuzzles Hookfang. He leaps back, snarling. "Don't comfort me! Nobody's dead–!" The 'yet' catches in his throat. He doesn't want to believe that Snotlout will die, but the fire burning him up from the inside is too hot for a human to survive.

Stormfly freezes, hurt, but Toothless tilts his head. "Does someone have to be dead for you to take a little comfort, Fire-Scale?"

"No! Yes. I…" Hookfang shakes his head and bursts into flame. Gods, that feels good. He tilts his head up and roars. "Nobody's dying!" he bellows. Sure, Snotlout might be on fire, but his little brother is stronger than fire. Snotlout will survive.

"When my rider took an arrow for me," Stormfly says, carefully matter-of-fact, "I pretended not to care. But I took most of her pain."

Toothless' eyes widen. "Spike-Tails can do that?"

"Only female Spike-Tails, only sometimes. If you're touching. If you're bonded." She shrugs. "I thought it was only mothers for hatchlings, but I tried and I found I could. But I pretended not to care, and she pretended not to feel it."

Hookfang lets himself flame higher, reveling in it. "If I could… If I could…" he growls. He looks up at Toothless-Queen helplessly, meeting his wide, understanding eyes. "He suffers. He  _burns."_

Stormfly steps closer and nuzzles Hookfang, and this time Hookfang doesn't stop her, leaning into her slightly. "I would take it all for him if I could," he mutters, sinking to the deck.

"Come on, stretch your wings." Toothless nudges him. "Just a short flight to the mountaintop and back. We were about to do an ice run."

Hookfang balks. "It will take too long."

"A few minutes," Toothless insists, looking off to where Meatlug and Barf-and-Belch are collecting buckets. "We need an extra dragon." He opens his wide green hatchling-eyes in the way that makes his soft rider do whatever he wants. Does Toothless seriously think Hookfang's going to fall for it?

Hookfang takes a breath to tell Toothless he's not going, that whatever tricks the Nightwing uses on Hiccup won't work on him. But before he can say it, Toothless lowers his head to the wooden boards of the human-deck. "Without my rider, I am flightless." He makes himself small, as if in shame. "Hiccup is sitting with Snotlout. I am useless; I can't take part."

Hookfang frowns. That's right - he forgot Hiccup is still back there, taking care of his little brother. Their Queen can't fly on his own. His chest feels tight to see Toothless' head lowered submissively, as if his disability makes him less than the others. "I'll do it for you, Toothless-Queen," he says, lowering his head to Toothless' level. There's no way Toothless deserves to be lower than anyone else.

"Great!" Toothless produces a bucket out of nowhere and slings the long handle round Hookfang's nose-horn. "Besides, Fire-Scales can carry heavier loads than the rest of us. You're the strongest dragon."

Hookfang lets himself preen for an instant before he hears a giggle from behind him. He turns. Meatlug and Barf-and-Belch have landed behind them, empty buckets in their jaws. But what are they all smirking at? Turning back, Hookfang sees Toothless sitting straight up on his haunches, chest puffed out. He narrows his eyes. Tricky Nightwing.

* * *

On their way back down from the mountain, Stormfly tells him, "My rider knows."

Barf and Belch just smirk, while both Meatlug and Hookfang swivel their heads towards her in shock. "But the humans kept it a secret!"

"Please," Stormfly tosses her head. "How can those with no scent or hearing to speak of properly keep  _any_  secret?"

"You have a point," says Meatlug.

"But she isn't a dragon!" Hookfang cuts her off. "How did she find out?"

"Haven't you noticed? Human-Queen Hiccup is like that," says Barf.

"He sees what no-one sees," says Belch.

"He goes where no-one goes," Barf continues.

"Hush," admonishes Stormfly. To Hookfang, she says, "I think she heard something. Your humans aren't exactly quiet, you know. Even by human standards."

Hookfang nods, conceding. But then he remembers something that makes smoke come out of his nostrils. "My human wanted it a secret because human offspring go down in the hierarchy – as I understand it – if they are hurt by their sire or dam. How did Astrid react?" By the end of his speech, he's growling. He can't help it. If she dares so much as  _look_  at Snotlout wrong, after all he's been through… "Has he fallen in her estimation?"

They land, Hookfang needing a longer landing strip: their conversation pauses while he glides to a stop, then turns and comes back to the others. Toothless joins them and helps them unload the buckets into the communal storage. "On the contrary," Stormfly says, a little muffled by the bucket-handle in her mouth. "She seems to think more of him. She yearns to heal his wounds, and she has been preparing him food in secret. She feels sorrow for his pain. She esteems him for protecting the reputation of his sire from such a stain."

Toothless rumbles low in his throat. "Such a sire doesn't deserve protection."

"Astrid has spoken to me about coming to visit your rider when he is more recovered. I think," Stormfly tilts her head, "I think she wanted me to find out from you when he was well enough for that." Before Hookfang can speak, Stormfly rushes on. "Let her visit him, Hookfang. She only wants to show fellow-feeling."

Strangely warmed, Hookfang nods. "Agreed." He looks between the other dragons. "Thank you."

Snotlout's fever breaks the next night.


	15. Chapter 15

Snotlout didn’t ever want Fishlegs to know about this.

He’s pretending to be asleep, knowing Fishlegs is right there, reading a book, babysitting him since he’s too weak and stupid to take care of himself. He can’t face him – another weakness – so here he is, with his eyes closed. Maybe he can hold out until Hiccup gets here to take over the babysitting.

It’s bad enough Hiccup knowing. But at least Hiccup is, well, Hiccup. He’s no stranger to being a failure and a disappointment. Besides, Hiccup is family. Hiccup is always there with that soft dragon of his - Hookfang once made Snotlout laugh by meowing like a cat when Toothless left after a particularly disgusting nuzzling and purring session with his rider, even though he looked embarrassed to have done it afterwards. Hiccup understands the need for a family secret.

Fishlegs, though, is another story. Sure, he was a runt for about ten minutes when he was born, and he acted scared of everything... But ever since that Changewing-egg incident, he’s changed. Like he’s grown. Not just bigger, but... Like he’s a chief or something. Like maybe he’s also grown bigger… on the inside. Snotlout takes every opportunity to try to cut him down, but secretly... Well... He can’t stand the thought of Fishlegs thinking badly of him.

And any respect Fishlegs may have had for him is gone.

Snotlout knows that. There’s no way after Fishlegs has seen him like _this_ … that he would hold Snotlout in any sort of regard. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does…

There’s a clattering sound in the room. Fishlegs is asking Meatlug to heat some water. He must be making him one of those medicinal brews. Snotlout’s eyes burn. Fishlegs is so much more intelligent than he will ever be, even if he read all the books in the world for twenty years. Snotlout calls him “Fishface.” He calls him boring. He makes fun of him. When he can. But that’s just... He has to look strong somehow, doesn’t he? What would Fishlegs think of him if he just rolled over and took orders like the rest of them? If he let him know how much he looks up to him? Snotlout would be giving up all his advantage. He’d be just another weakling.

But now... Now any hope he had of earning Fishlegs’ respect is gone. He turns his face into the pillow, groping blindly for Hookfang’s wing. What he wouldn’t have given to see Fishlegs look at him admiringly, just once.

Hookfang drapes a wing around him and purrs. Snotlout presses his face tighter into the bedding. It’s okay to cry under Hookfang’s wing, where nobody can see. Hookfang’s a good friend, he won’t tell. He’s seen the way Fishlegs looks at Hiccup, like Hiccup has all the answers. Like Hiccup is the Chief. Tears burn in his tight-shut eyes. Why can't Fishlegs look at him like that? Snotlout doesn't want to be chief, he just wants... he lets out a shuddering breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible. He doesn't know _what_ he wants.

“Snotlout? Are you okay?”

Snotlout feels his face flush. He wipes his stupid tears away against the quilt. “Oh, that is all I need. You asking me if I’m okay, Fishface.” His voice is grating with the effort not to cry. “Get lost and I might be okay.”

“What the Hel is wrong with you, Snotlout?” Snotlout can’t see Fishlegs from his hiding-place under Hookfang’s wing, but he can imagine him straightening up, all wounded pride.

“Nothing’s wrong with me!” Snotlout hates how high-pitched his voice is. He clears his throat. “I just want to be left alone! Why is that so hard to understand?”

“Too bad.” Fishlegs sounds miffed. ... _hurt?_ “I’ll leave you alone as soon as you take your medicine. Hookfang?”

Hookfang lifts his wing and Snotlout scrubs his face into his pillow, staving off humiliated tears. “Traitor,” he mutters. Why does Fishlegs have to see him like _this?_

“Take your medicine,” Fishlegs repeats, holding out a wooden bowl.

Snotlout sniffs, glaring at the bowl. He’s not a child. He’s not weak. He doesn’t need to be treated like he is. But his heart sinks: he _is_ weak. He couldn’t handle his punishment. He couldn’t even save himself. His dragon had to save him. What kind of Viking is he? And, now that he’s humiliated himself so utterly, why is Fishlegs always here, acting like he gives a yak’s ass? Hiccup, well, that’s family duty. Vikings are nothing if not loyal to family. But… “Why?” Snotlout croaks, looking up at Fishlegs.

Fishlegs frowns down at the bowl. “Why what?”

“Why bother? I’m not worth all this.”

“What?” Fishlegs looks up wide-eyed, jaw dropping. “Worth all… All what?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“All this!” Snotlout tries to wave a hand, but he can’t. Helpless. Useless. His eyes fall on the bowl. “This stuff. These supplies. Medicine. I’m not worth wasting them on,” Snotlout mumbles. Hookfang’s scales heat underneath him, but he doesn’t flare up. Not that Hookfang would. Hookfang has more control than people give him credit for. He would never really hurt Snotlout.

“Wasting?” Fishlegs repeats, staring. “It’s not a _waste._ This isn’t—this isn’t superfluous!”

Now this is something Snotlout can deal with. “Who uses ‘superfluous’ in a sentence, anyway?” He’s not going to let Fishlegs know that he’s not sure what that word means. He can guess, from context (like he finds himself doing often whenever he hears Fishlegs and Hiccup talking to one another) and tone. It sounds like Fishlegs doesn’t agree with him.

But Fishlegs won’t be distracted. “You’re sick, Snotlout! You need medicine!”

Snotlout feels his chest tighten again. “Why?”

“For infection! For healing! To keep your fever down!”

“But why? Why would you do all this work?” Snotlout continues, hating himself for how desperate he sounds. How it almost sounds like whining. Like a child.

“I can’t sit here and watch you suffer!” Fishlegs bursts out.

“Why not? Why do you care?!”

 _“Why…”_ Fishlegs trails off and gapes like his namesake, shaking his head. “Because you… because I uh…” After another few minutes of gaping, he finally says, “You’re my teammate.” His eyes flick down. Even more softly, he murmurs, “You’re my friend.”

Snotlout’s eyes sting and he closes them, unable to look at Fishlegs anymore. Fishlegs can’t... he can’t care. Not really. Not… not after Snotlout has failed at being everything he’s ever tried to be.

“Snotlout?” Fishlegs coaxes. He’s very close now, the bowl in Snotlout’s lap, Fishlegs holding it rock-steady. “I know you’re feeling bad. Being sick will do that.” He smiles wryly. “I know. I got sick a lot when we were kids.” He raises the bowl. “Just drink this, it’ll help.”

Snotlout turns his face away. “Why bother? I don’t... I don’t deserve your care. You should just leave me to, uh...” He trails off, unable to ask Fishlegs to let him die. He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t deserve this care either. And he knows he’d die without it. Maybe he deserves death. No one really wants death, he isn’t special. Death takes, regardless of what you want.

And suddenly Fishlegs is _right there,_ his face inches from Snotlout’s. Snotlout has no idea how he came round to his other side so quickly, but Fishlegs’ hand is on the back of Snotlout’s head, holding him in place so he can’t turn away again. “We should _what?”_ His face is thunderous. _“What were you about to say?”_

Snotlout cringes. He can’t survive another beating. Not so soon. He shrinks back, but he’s held so firmly he can’t move. He tries to raise his hand, but he’s too weak. He closes his eyes. “Don’t,” he cries, a reflex.

Hookfang roars. Meatlug bolts up from her station at the door, visibly alarmed. Fishlegs stumbles back, letting Hookfang grab Snotlout’s arms and support him. Meatlug jogs over to Fishlegs, halting his clumsy retreat. He clutches at her gratefully, wide eyes fixed on Snotlout. “Thor almighty…” he gasps.

Snotlout subsides. “Sorry.” That was all he needed, to humiliate himself further.

But Fishlegs is just standing there, leaning on Meatlug, chest rising and falling heavily, looking thunderstruck. She rumbles to him, then meets Hookfang’s eyes. Hookfang bows his head. “Thanks,” Fishlegs whispers to Meatlug, and takes a measured step forward. “Snotlout,” Fishlegs says carefully, slowly, “what did you think I was gonna do?”

“I just… Look, it’s kinda soon, that’s all!” Snotlout blusters. Yeah, that sounds good. Good and manly. “If you’re gonna kick my ass, save it for later, okay?”

And Fishlegs starts _crying._

It’s Snotlout’s turn to stare open-mouthed. Meatlug whines and licks Fishlegs’ tears away while Hookfang rumbles. Snotlout can’t tell what he means, so he concentrates on Fishlegs. “What the Hel is wrong with you, Fishface?” Except he kind of knows, and his heart’s twisting in his chest in a combination of sheer shock and a kind of odd warm sensation that Fishlegs cares so much, that these tears are… for _him?_

“Sorry,” Fishlegs mutters, looking away. He clears his throat. “Didn’t mean to cry.” Almost inaudibly, he mutters, “Guess I’m not much of a Viking…”

Meatlug rumbles and Snotlout blinks. Wait wait wait—Fishlegs, _Fishlegs_ , thinks he’s not a true Viking?! “What?”

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Fishlegs turns back to Snotlout, pressing his fists into his eyes to blot away the last of his tears. His hands are so big they cover his face completely. Meatlug nuzzles him. “I’m okay, Princess. I’m okay, don’t worry.”

Snotlout keeps staring at Fishlegs. Finally, he reassures Meatlug and turns to Snotlout. “Did you really think,” Fishlegs begins, “uh, did you think I was gonna hur--uh...” He shakes his head, stammering as if looking for words. Finally, he says, _“Hit_ you?”

“No. Well, yeah. Uh…” Snotlout is too tired for this, but he tries to make sense. “Like, why wouldn’t you?”

Fishlegs’ eyes are still damp, but he’s staring wide-eyed at Snotlout. “I don’t go around _hitting_ people, Snotlout! Especially…” He shakes his head. “I mean, you’ve given me occasion to punch your lights out plenty of times! What makes you think I’d lay a hand on you when you’re sick?!”

Snotlout looks away, feeling his heart clench. “Y--you were mad,” he whispers.

“And you thought if I was mad, I’d automatically…” Fishlegs seems unable to find words, but he doesn’t shut up. “Hiccup gets mad all the time! Hel – I heard Hiccup even punched you out one time! Why aren’t you scared of _him?”_

“Oh, please.” Finally, something Snotlout has an easy answer to. “I stood there and _begged_ Hiccup to lay one on me. It was for Barf and Belch, it was an _act!_ He got carried away, that’s all! I’m not scared of Hiccup. I’m not scared of anyone,” Snotlout throws in for good measure. “I guess it was just, you’re…” Snotlout’s throat closes. “I don’t know. Different.”

Fishlegs looks down at the bowl. “Different how?”

“Hey, you still got that medicine?”

Fishlegs blinks, frozen in place. Finally, he swallows, nods, and lifts the bowl to Snotlout’s face. “Can you bend enough to drink?”

“I’m not some kinda invalid, Fishface,” Snotlout mutters. But the truth is, he _can’t_ lift his arms, not yet at least. And he can’t really bend yet either, not till the swelling goes down. It’s galling. He’s forced to let Fishlegs hold the bowl up to his lips as he lies there on his side, and even raising his head to drink takes all the energy he has.

Snotlout falls back, panting, when he’s done, and doesn’t protest when Fishlegs, as he takes the bowl away, ‘accidentally’ brushes the towel across his mouth to wipe it. Snotlout couldn’t have done it himself. “…useless,” he mutters. Then he winces.

Fishlegs is in his face immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” sighs Snotlout. “I just… This is payback for all the times I called Hiccup ‘useless.’ Now I’m the one who’s…” He’s suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue, so sleepy he can’t even keep talking. “Use… useless…”

Hookfang croons. “Get some rest,” Fishlegs instructs, adding, “Make sure he does, Hookfang.” He may have brushed a hand over Snotlout’s hair, but that could have been Hookfang, or he could have been imagining it. “We can talk later. Sleep is good now.”

* * *

But the question won’t leave Snotlout’s mind. _Why?_

All this attention. All this care. He’s never left alone with his fear. There’s always steady breathing underneath him, always a deep purr to soothe him to sleep. Always Hiccup at his desk, tinkering with his inventions, always Fishlegs reading by the shaft of sunlight slanting in through the hole Hookfang blasted in the ceiling.

The fever’s gone, but it’s left him a mess. It’s not his injuries – they weren’t _that_ bad to start with, not _really,_ and they hardly even hurt anymore unless he moves – it’s the illness that has him so frustratingly weak. Snotlout’s never really been one to get sick, not like Hiccup and Fishlegs, who were often out of commission and not allowed out of the house for weeks on end. The few illnesses he did get he managed to shake off, a Jorgenson trait, his dad always said. He never realized just how much a prolonged fever takes out of you. He tries to raise his hand and can barely lift it to shoulder height before he lets it fall, panting like he’s run ten laps. When he needs to use the chamber-pot it’s like going into battle with the Dragon Hunters: his shaking legs can’t support his own weight, and Hookfang has to lift and half-carry him in his claws to keep him from falling flat on his face. Fishlegs is encouraging and keeps telling him he’ll be up and about in no time, but in the meantime, Snotlout can’t even empty the damned thing after he relieves himself into it, and it’s beyond mortifying to know that Hiccup and Fishlegs are carrying his excrement away. He doesn’t see them do it, they’re tactful and careful to only do it when he’s asleep, but every time he wakes to find a clean, fresh chamber-pot, he flushes to the roots of his hair, and he honestly doesn’t know if he can ever face them again when all this is over.

When Fishlegs is in by himself, Snotlout asks him again. “Why are you doing this?”

Fishlegs stirs his weird concoction, but doesn’t reply.

“I asked you a question,” Snotlout snaps.

“It’s…” Fishlegs looks up. He meets Meatlug’s eyes helplessly, then looks up at Hookfang. “What do I even say to that?”

Hookfang rumbles and licks Snotlout. “I…” Snotlout pauses. “Look. Maybe I wouldn’t have, uh… maybe I’d have gotten sicker if you and Hiccup hadn’t done what you did for me...”

“You would have died,” Fishlegs says flatly. “Hookfang’s good, but there’s only so much he can do. He did the right thing bringing you to the Edge. He wouldn’t have been able to care for you alone.”

Snotlout breathes in through his nose. “Like I needed to feel worse.”

“Huh?”

“I have a debt now, Fishface! I’ve already taken so much, maybe more than I can repay. I owe Hiccup a lot… but I’ve never owed him my _life_ before. And now I owe you my life too…”

“You’ve saved _both_ our lives in battle a dozen times. Since when do we keep score?”

“Battle’s different, Fishface! This is just… day in and day out, I’m useless. I don’t want to burden you guys more than I already have!”

Fishlegs keeps stirring, eyes fixed on his hands, voice flat. “It’s not a burden and it’s not a debt.”

“Ah, come on!” Snotlout can feel his blood heating. “This is more, it’s more than… more than I can ever repay. Either of you. I can’t ever repay either of you for this.”

He sees Fishlegs’ shoulders slump. Fishlegs sets the mug aside slowly and raises resigned eyes. “You getting better is all the repayment we need.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

Fishlegs takes in a deep breath. His eyes are so wide, seeming to lay bare his soul, that it makes Snotlout shiver. “Yes, it does. Hiccup and I weren’t doing this for you. We were doing it for _us._ For _ourselves._ Because we _wanted_ to.” Hookfang rumbles. “And so was Hookfang. It would destroy him to lose you, Snotlout.” Hookfang doesn’t deny it; Fishlegs’ face crumples in a grimace. “And us too.”

“What? Des… What?” That just sounds ridiculous. “No it wouldn’t. Why bother?!”

Fishlegs sighs, put-upon. “Because we care, Snotlout. Everyone here cares about you. We need you here, so… ‘why bother?’ We bother because we _need you.”_

“What do you mean, need?” Snotlout _hates_ how dumb he sounds repeating everything Fishlegs says, but he can’t shake the feeling that Fishlegs is mocking him. The Dragon Riders don’t need _him,_ of that he’s certain. He doesn’t have leadership skills like Astrid, he hasn’t proved he can be trusted like Heather, he isn’t strong and smart like Fishlegs or crazy-brilliant-inspired like Ruff and Tuff. And he doesn’t have the… whatever it is that makes Snotlout feel everything will be okay now that Hiccup’s in charge. Even if Snotlout’s useful in battle, he’s sure not useful now, bedridden and helpless. “You can’t need someone who’s a burden. I’m just a waste of resources.”

Fishlegs gapes. For a long moment he doesn’t say anything at all, long enough for Snotlout to squirm under his gaze. “Resources? It’s…” He takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face. “It’s… not a quid pro quo, Snotlout.”

“I can’t speak Latin. Just one more thing I can’t do.” Snotlout hates how waspish it comes out, but he can’t help it.

But Fishlegs takes it in stride. “Not an exchange, not a trade,” he explains. “Wouldn’t you do everything you could to take care of Hiccup, if he was hurt? Astrid? The twins?”

“Yeah, but Hiccup’s the leader! Astrid’s the best warrior. They’re all important to the team. It’s not the same.”

The look on Fishlegs’ face is like he’s just watched Meatlug take a sword through the heart. “You don’t think you’re important to the team?” he whispers.

“Well, I mean, yeah, um… Uh, I…” Damn Fishlegs, anyway, he’s starting to make Snotlout feel guilty! “Like, I don’t have any special skills… I’m not as good a warrior as my dad...”

Fishlegs’ face lights up like he’s figured everything out, and it pisses Snotlout off. “You’re comparing yourself to Spitelout and thinking you come up short? Because--”

“Shut up, Fishface,” Snotlout snaps, ignoring how it makes him short of breath. Hookfang grunts worriedly, but if he listened to that overprotective dragon he’d never get _anything_ done. “I’m just saying why take care of me when I - at least right now, okay - uh, when I can’t do anything for you? For anyone?”

Fishlegs stares at him. “What if Hiccup lost his other leg and could never walk again? Would you consider him a liability? A dead weight?”

“No, but Hiccup is _Hiccup!”_

“And you’re _you,_ Snotlout! We love you--” Fishlegs blushes to the roots of his hair, but his speech doesn’t waver. “We care about you. Not everything is about what people can do for you! We can’t do _without_ you _,_ Snotlout, not the services you can perform. We like you for _you_. You’re our _friend.”_

Snotlout won’t get into how he’s not worth it, because Fishface is clearly on one of his lovey-dovey kicks, so he just goes for the truth. “No you don’t. There’s no such thing as friendship. Everyone wants to get ahead, it’s only natural. You could all do just fine without me. You could leave me in the dirt.”

Fishlegs stares. Finally, he whispers, “Who told you that?”

“My father. I’m a disappointment, and—”

“Spitelout?! What does Spitelout know?!” snaps Fishlegs.

Heat flares through Snotlout’s chest, a defense already escaping his lips. “Everything! My da knows everything! Who am I to question him?!”

“Oh? Does he know how to forge Gronckle Iron? Or how to care for a Nightmare’s scales?” Hookfang rumbles, nodding, and Snotlout hesitates just long enough. “He doesn’t know everything!”

“He could learn!” Snotlout argues back.

Fishlegs throws his hands into the air and paces away. “No he couldn’t! He doesn’t want to and he won’t ever know anything about dragons! He’s wrong! And he’s wrong about you!”

“He could learn,” Snotlout repeats feebly.

The dragon-surface beneath him vibrates with another rumble. Snotlout knows that it’s not a sound of agreement, but then Hookfang is always disagreeing with him.

Fishlegs is back in front of him, looking up at Snotlout where he’s propped up on Hookfang’s stomach. “No, he couldn’t. He can’t. Snotlout, you are allowed to become your own man, and part of that is recognizing that age doesn’t always equal wisdom.”

Snotlout shakes his head. “Age is always right. Always.”

Fishlegs frowns. “Does your Dad say that?”

“Of-Of course...”

Fishlegs takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s… Let’s just assume that Spitelout is wrong.” The words are slow and measured. “Let’s assume, just for a minute, that everything he’s ever taught you is wrong.”

Snotlout stares. Then he laughs nervously. “Yeah, right. Good one, Fishface.”

Fishlegs’ face is so impassive, so stern, that it unsettles Snotlout a little bit. He doesn’t speak for a moment, eyes not leaving Fishlegs’. Snotlout takes a shaky breath. “E-everything?”

“Everything he’s ever taught you.” Fishlegs pulls up a stool and sits. “Wrong. Everything. All of it. Just for the sake of argument. Humor me.”

But Snotlout can’t. He shakes his head. “He taught me how to fight. He taught me how to throw an axe. I beat you guys in Thawfest every year.” There’s no way that everything can be wrong when he’s succeeded in so many ways thanks to Spitelout.

Fishlegs settles into the stool, still with that unnervingly steady, neutral gaze.

“Okay,” Snotlout half-laughs, “Astrid is good with an axe, can’t deny that! But he did teach me! How to – to throw stuff, to – to catch, he… He taught me everything I know!”

“He didn’t teach you how to ride a dragon,” Fishlegs says evenly.

“I—No, he… I…” Snotlout flounders, and Hookfang isn’t helping as he rumbles and snarls beneath him. “Ah, shut up! Stupid dragon!”

Fishlegs’ voice is sad. “Did he teach you that, too? To talk to Hookfang like that?’

“No! Yeah! A…” _But when the sword cannot be sharpened… You get a new sword._ How can he hear his father? Why does he sound disappointed? Why does Snotlout have to be a disappointment? Snotlout grimaces and bows his head.

“Are you okay?” Fishlegs reaches out a hand, not touching. Hookfang’s deep, rumbling croon thrums through Snotlout’s body.

“Shut up, Fishface!” Snotlout grates, his voice breaking. _A dragon’s useful, o’ course. But it doesn’t have higher thinking like a human._ “Shut up!”

“Snotlout, you’re scaring me.”

Hookfang croons, butting Snotlout’s face with his cheek. Hookfang defended Snotlout. He took care of him. _Your Monstrous Nightmare can’t feel. And all the soft-hearted talk in the world won’t change that. That Hookfang? It’s a thing, like a mace or a sword. Just a thing._

Snotlout cries out, flinging his arms around Hookfang’s snout, not caring that it hurts. Hookfang mutters worriedly and bends lower. “You’re not a thing, Hooky! You’re not!” Snotlout can hear his voice breaking, and he doesn’t give a damn. It feels like he’s been here before, like he’s said this before. It’s confusing. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry!” Hookfang’s wing comes up around him, cradling gently, not hurting, just soothing. The giant dragon head rubs against his cheek and his partner starts to purr to him, rocking back and forth just a fraction. “I’m sorry,” Snotlout repeats, feeling himself start to sob. He gasps for breath and starts to cough. Hookfang rumbles and licks him, pressing the curve of one claw against the place where Snotlout’s chest is aching. “You mean everything to me, Hookfang. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry I upset you, Snotlout,” Fishlegs’ voice comes from behind the dragon’s wing. “I’ll be back later.”

* * *

The sound of Hiccup’s door opening and closing comes through Hookfang’s wing. Snotlout lets his dragon partner lower him to his stomach, and lets himself sob. His da is wrong about Hookfang. He can’t be right. His da is always right… But not about dragons. Not about this.

_Let’s just assume that everything he’s taught you is wrong._

Snotlout buries his face in the pillow and fumbles for Hookfang’s scales. The pebbly surface feels like home. Hookfang wraps his wing closer around him, shutting out the world. “I love you, Hookfang,” Snotlout whispers into the dragon’s stomach. “I love you _so much.”_ Gods, what was in that stuff Fishlegs gave him? The wing around him flutters and soothes as Snotlout’s tears soak into his pillow. “I love you, I’m sorry, I love you. You’re not… what he said. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never defended you, oh Hookfang, I’m so _sorry…”_

Hookfang purrs in distress and licks Snotlout’s tears away. _Hush. Don’t cry._ The claw of the wing covering Snotlout curls around his upper arm, his other claw raking through Snotlout’s hair. He bends his head close and nuzzles Snotlout’s face, then rocks him gently, telling him without words that he’s cared for, that he’s loved, that he’s forgiven.

 _Everything he’s taught you is wrong._ About dragons, yes, that’s true, Snotlout can get behind that. His dad has never known much about dragons, has never understood why Snotlout needs to rub Nightmare gel into Hookfang’s neck when his body secretes it naturally, never listens when Snotlout explains that the saddle makes it hard for the scales in that area to self-lubricate. And he’d never tell his dad about the tightness in his gut when he sees Hookfang’s neck even a little bit chafed from the saddle, like Snotlout is hurting him. Never tell him that caring for his friend’s scales feels like the least he can do, feels like repayment for carrying him into the skies. For letting him fly.

Never tell him that he does it because he… well… _cares_.

_We bother because we care._

“…wrong?” he whispers, still letting Hookfang nuzzle and rock him, not knowing what he did to deserve such loyalty. Loyalty from the best and closest friend he’s ever had…

... the one his father calls a _thing._

_Everything he’s ever taught you is wrong._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill by now: Graphic violence, past bullying, PTSD, the whole shebang. 10Blue10 is the source of the dragon names. Thursday26 is the world's best editor bar none and I love them.
> 
> For the ones who wanted Hiccup: I kind of loved that you asked for this. Thank you.

 

Hiccup takes the next sick-watch and the one after that. Fishlegs sounded unhappy, begging Hiccup to take his shifts and saying something about having upset Snotlout, even though Meatlug didn't seem to agree. Hiccup doesn't think Fishlegs could do anything like that if he tried – one thing he knows is that Fishlegs doesn't have a malicious bone in his body – but he takes the sick-watch anyway.

As Hiccup sits in his chair, reading a book on metallurgy that Fishlegs got from someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows Heather, Toothless reading over his shoulder, Hiccup can't help the soft smile that spreads over his face. It's kind of encouraging to see Snotlout in less pain and getting better. It warms something in Hiccup's heart.

Lately, Hiccup's thoughts keep returning to that Thawfest, all those years ago, the exchange he witnessed – he can't really call it a confrontation – between father and son. And this time… with the wedding and the horrific punishment that followed... Hiccup can't help comparing how Snotlout spoke to his father this last time with how he speaks to Hiccup, as his leader. _I know what you're going to say,_ he said to Spitelout.  _I messed up again._  How many times has Snotlout started a conversation with Hiccup with those same words after a mission, when he's done something he thinks Hiccup is going to chew him out for?  _I know what you're going to say: I messed up,_ Snotlout always says to Hiccup. Word for word. Sometimes,  _I ruined everything,_ or  _all this is my fault._

Now he's thought of it, Snotlout's voice won't stop repeating in Hiccup's head. Gods, what else did he say?  _I ruined the union ceremony and I let you down, and all the Jorgensons down._ Time and time again, Snotlout's said to Hiccup, 'I know I messed up,' followed by a list of what he thinks he's done wrong: 'I disobeyed orders,' or 'I endangered the team' or any one of a number of pre-emptive litanies of his own failures, before Hiccup can say them. To minimize Hiccup's anger. A chill snakes down Hiccup's limbs. Gods, does Snotlout… Hiccup's grateful that Snotlout thinks of him as his leader, of course he's grateful, but does Snotlout say it expecting retribution from Hiccup? Does he expect… Not violence, but… Does he expect Hiccup to belittle him, cut him down… Gods, to  _hurt_ him?

Hiccup goes cold, remembering how he laid Snotlout out with a punch, that insane day when Snotlout insisted that Hiccup hit him. Sure, Snotlout was asking for it in so many words, but… Hiccup's blood suddenly feels like acid in his veins...  _gods,_ did Snotlout gain more respect for Hiccup as a leader knowing Hiccup could physically hurt him? That Hiccup, if he chose to, was strong enough to beat Snotlout up? Now, knowing Snotlout's used to authority figures beating him senseless, Hiccup is seized with a sudden urge to wash himself.

Toothless nudges him, silent in deference to Snotlout being asleep. Hiccup tilts his head and presses his cheek against Toothless'. "Tell you later, bud," he whispers into his ear.

_I know I messed up. I know I let you down._ Now, knowing what he knows, Hiccup thanks the gods that he's been careful to address that sentiment the minute Snotlout expresses it; something eases in his chest to remember that he's almost always reassured Snotlout and told him he's not to blame, and praised him for how well he's done. And Hiccup always means it, too. Behind that belligerent facade, Snotlout gives his all for the team, with crazy courage, taking crazy risks. Even when he's made mistakes, Snotlout has always acted in sincere good faith, barring occasional short-lived attacks of ego.

"…Hiccup?"

"Huh?" Hiccup's head jerks up. "Yeah?"

"Every time he hit me… I would take it out on you."

Hiccup blinks. He knows exactly what Snotlout's talking about. He just doesn't know what brought it up or what the Hel he's supposed to say.

Toothless growls, low and angry, in his throat, and it jerks Hiccup out of his mental paralysis. He doesn't know what caused this or what it's about, but he won't disrespect it by pretending he doesn't know what Snotlout's talking about. Hiccup takes a deep breath. "I know."

"What?" Snotlout flails a little in bed, and Hookfang takes him by the upper arms and pulls him into a more upright position. "How?"

Hiccup sighs. "Doesn't take a genius." He shrugs a little stiffly, waving an awkward hand. "Berk's not that big. And well, uh… Most secrets people think are secrets aren't really secrets."

Snotlout takes a moment to digest this. "Are you trying to confuse me?" he finally says, parodying his own bravado.

Hiccup smiles. "Maybe."

"Hiccup…" Snotlout mutters. "I know it's years too late. But I'm sorry."

Hiccup sits very still.

Toothless growls, low, at Snotlout. Hookfang growls back. Toothless growls louder. Hookfang draws a breath, an answering growl building in his throat.

"Pipe down, Hookfang!" Snotlout yells, then has to breathe hard as the effort of shouting exhausts him. Hookfang croons and licks him, and Toothless backs down. "He's right. You weren't there, Hooky. If you treated a dog like I treated Hiccup, you'd be dragged before the council."

"Aw, thanks," Hiccup half-smiles. But his heart isn't in it. He thought he'd outgrown it, put it behind him, but he's suddenly submerged in the torment his childhood used to be. His cousin hit him, humiliated him…

"…never let anyone pick you for anything, stopped the others playing with you. Tore up your notebooks, made fun of your projects. Called you Useless like it was your name."

Hiccup can't breathe. Blindly, he reaches for Toothless. It shouldn't still matter. But it does. Toothless rumbles deep in his throat, then rubs his head against Hiccup's encircling arm, crooning.

Snotlout isn't finished. "I cut you out of everything, beat you up, made you cry then gave you shit for crying. I called you names. I hurt you in a hundred ways." Snotlout breathes in, shuddery. "And here you are." His voice is thick now. "You brought me out here to the Edge. You didn't… didn't cut me out… when it mattered."

Hiccup finally finds his voice. "I wouldn't cut you out! You're my cousin—Hel, you're my  _friend!"_

"You gave me a home, Hiccup," Snotlout says quietly.

Hiccup laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. His other hand finds Toothless, who obligingly lays his head in Hiccup's lap. "You had a home, Snotlout. I didn't give you anything."

Snotlout shakes his head, slowly so as not to get dizzy. "I had a place I lived. I never had a home till the Edge." His eyes flick up to meet Hiccup's, then he looks back down. "I never felt safe until I moved out here, and I didn't even know it." His words come out in a sigh. "Till now."

The effort of speaking has exhausted him, and he slumps against his pillow. Hookfang rumbles and brushes the hair off his face with a claw. Snotlout turns his head on the pillow to face Hiccup. "So you knew." His voice drops, resigned. "You've always known."

Hiccup's eyes widen. "N—no!" he denies immediately. "Not always! Not at ALL." His voice wavers and he lets out a strangled laugh. It squeaks a little at the end. "What makes you think that?"

"Hiccup…" Even weakened from fever, Snotlout manages a grin. "Your best friends should tell you, you really are the world's shittiest liar."

"I am not!" Hiccup bristles. His voice softens and he smiles gently at Snotlout. "And one of them just did."

Snotlout's eyes dart away, but a pleased flush glows on his pale cheeks for an instant. Then he sobers. "You knew."

Hiccup looks down at his hands. "Yeah."

"So when I uh…" Hookfang purrs and Toothless growls at more or less the same moment, "when I beat you up… You…"

"Yeah," Hiccup jumps in to put Snotlout out of his misery. "I knew. I uh, sometimes I hid out in the back room of the forge or in the woods when uh…" He draws in a deep breath. He can do this. "When I heard."

Snotlout's eyes widen suddenly. "Did the oth—"

"No," Hiccup says firmly. "Well," he concedes, "maybe Fishlegs. He sees a lot and…"

"And I beat him up as well," Snotlout groans. "Gods, and I hit on Astrid and… Is there anyone I  _wasn't_ a dick to?" He turns his face away.

"Hey." Hiccup stands, nudging Toothless gently aside, and puts a hand on Snotlout's head – his shoulder is healing well, but Hiccup's not taking any chances. "Can't we talk about this later?"

"No. No, we gotta talk about this now, because if I'm better I can't blame what I said on the medications Fishface shoves down my throat, or the fever, or the phases of the moon or I don't know…"

Hiccup's hand has started absently stroking Snotlout's hair. Both Toothless and Hookfang are staring at him like his hand is a weird invention of Viggo's that may explode at any moment. Hiccup looks from one dragon to the other, then continues casually stroking as if it was his own idea in the first place, and not his hand's. "It's okay, Snotlout."

"It is  _not_ okay. Hiccup, I made your life miserable and you were so good to me. You… You gave me Hookfang." Hookfang growls in the back of his throat, but desists from further objections. "Did you know? When you said I could come and live out here on the Edge? That I had to get out? I didn't even know it myself." Hiccup is starting to think this  _is_  an effect of the fever or the medication, at least partly. "I'd have… I can't ever go back to live there."

"You don't have to," Hiccup reassures him, still stroking his hair. "We can figure something out."

"Hiccup," says Snotlout. "You gotta listen to me."

Hiccup gently withdraws his hand and sits down, meeting Snotlout's eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's been years, and I never asked your forgiveness." Snotlout's eyes are hard, his jaw set. "I'm asking it now."

Hiccup stiffens in his chair. Then he lets out a laugh he hopes doesn't sound awkward. It sticks in his throat. "That's ancient history, don't worry about—"

Toothless head-butts Hiccup in the side. Hookfang clears his throat pointedly – or whatever a dragon does that makes it sound like it's clearing its throat. "I just told you," Snotlout repeats, "you're the best dragon trainer and all, but you really are a shitty liar."

Hiccup inhales and exhales hard through his nose. "Okay, Snotlout." He squares his shoulders. "You want it straight? You'll get it straight."

Snotlout stares. So does Hookfang. Hiccup meets Snotlout's eyes. "The first time," he whispers, "was when I was seven.

"I had a project for a water-wheel to move water upward. Later I learned it was called an aqueduct. I spent weeks working on the blueprint. I was gonna give it to my dad, and we were going to change the way we used water in the village. It was gonna change the lives of everyone on Berk." Hiccup has to swallow. "You came into the forge one day when I was working on it, and grabbed it. My one chance to be some use to the village, to make my father proud, to finally be a Viking. I cried and begged you to please, hurt me, break my arms, break my legs, do anything but please leave that blueprint alone."

Snotlout is chalk-white. "You threw it in the fire." Hiccup stares into space, seeing the flames devour his creation even now. "Everything was in that notebook. If you'd thrown it into the mud I could have salvaged it, but it was burnt to ash." Still staring at nothing, Hiccup drops heavily into the chair. "I never got a chance to try it out. Maybe it was a dud. Maybe it wouldn't have worked. But it never had a chance. There was nothing left."

Snotlout makes a small sound, like he's in pain. Toothless growls, and Hiccup doesn't silence him. "That," Hiccup says, "was the first time you broke my heart.

"The next time was when I was nine. Dagur was visiting the village. He locked up Fishlegs and then used me for target practice. You thought Dagur was the coolest thing around. You helped him throw knives at me. There were other kids there, and when someone said to be careful because of Dad, you said to Dagur, "He should have died when he was a baby. He's so weak he'll be dead soon, and I'll be the chief."

Toothless growls – and so does Hookfang. Hiccup plows on. "That wasn't so bad. I was determined to prove you wrong. It kinda made me stronger, in a weird way. But you were family, and you told Dagur he was important to you, and you said later that day that you wished he'd killed me so you and he could be best friends forever. And that was the second time you broke my heart."

Hiccup drags in a breath. "You've insulted me in a thousand ways. Loser, Fishbone, Useless, the leg thing. Never letting me forget I was the one who hurt Toothless." Toothless croons and Hiccup rubs his head blindly. "Like you had some kind of—of sacred duty to put me in my place. You wouldn't even shake my hand for Thawfest. You've let me know over and over and over that I didn't deserve your friendship. One time you said… You said I was the one who got my mom killed."

Snotlout's mouth falls open in horror. "I never meant—!"

"Hear me out," Hiccup says, mildly, but his tone makes Snotlout fall silent. "I believed it. Why wouldn't I? You were the strong one. You were the Viking."

"Hiccup, you can't really still…"

"Y—you said," Hiccup's voice is no longer quite steady, "you said I must have done something wrong. That the dragons came for me, but she got between us and they took her instead…"

Hiccup shudders, hard. His head drops backwards, eyes closed, and his fists clench at his sides, the color draining from his face. He grits his teeth and huffs out a breath, cheeks puffing out. It doesn't seem to be helping. He drags in another breath, but can't seem to get any air. Toothless draws his head back, blinking intently at him. "Hiccup?" Snotlout falters, Hookfang rumbling along with him. "You okay?"

"G—guess I wai… waited too long to get that out," Hiccup grates through clenched teeth. Another tremor runs through him. Toothless straightens as Hiccup brings his head forward to stare blankly down at his lap, blinking rapidly. He folds his arms across his chest and curls into himself with a deep breath. Instead of calming, he starts shaking.

As Hookfang and Snotlout stare, Toothless pushes his head into Hiccup's lap, nosing his arms apart. Then he looks up so the underside of his chin is pressed flat against Hiccup's front from his stomach all the way up to his neck, the curve of Toothless' mouth tucked into the soft place under Hiccup's chin. He croons loudly, serious green eyes fixed on Hiccup. Then he starts to purr.

The sound is different from Toothless' usual purring: it's deep and somehow deliberate. Almost as if he's calling out to someone, insisting on being heard. He's pressed so tight against Hiccup that Hiccup's chest is visibly vibrating. After a few moments, Hiccup wraps his arms around Toothless' head, staring glassy-eyed into space. The purring continues and Hiccup closes his eyes. He bows his head to rest his cheek against Toothless' snout. Still clinging to Toothless, Hiccup starts rocking.

They rock together for what seems like a long time. It's as if no-one else is in the room. Hiccup's eyelids flutter, tears dampening the hollows under his eyes as his friend continues to soothe him. Toothless' tongue slips out to lick at Hiccup's Adam's apple and press warmly against the pulse at the side of his neck. Hiccup finally closes his unseeing eyes, lets out a choking grunt in lieu of a sob and holds Toothless tighter, a lifeline. He's still vibrating with Toothless' powerful, low-pitched purring. Toothless flares his nostrils and drags in a noisy breath, a hint, and Hiccup mimics him. He starts breathing deeply, shakily at first, then better, his lungs visibly expanding and contracting as Toothless purrs and rocks him still.

Slowly, Hiccup's shaking calms and the color rises back into his face. Snotlout watches them, stricken, seeing for the first time how Toothless knit Hiccup back together after he and the others tore him apart.

Finally, Hiccup's eyes open. He blinks several times and pulls in one last deep breath, and he's calm and collected and  _Hiccup_ again. Toothless stays where he is, still purring, though the sound subsides in volume. Hiccup's arms are still wrapped around him tight. "Toothless," Hiccup says flatly, "convinced me I was wrong. Him and Gobber. Without them to take care of me, I'd have been…" He sighs deeply. "Maybe, I don't know. Like your dad. Or something. Maybe I'd be dead." Toothless whines and Hookfang rumbles. Hiccup shakes his head. "I really don't know what I'd have become."

"Hiccup," Snotlout gasps, "I'm so sorry—"

"There's one more thing." Hiccup feels like he's unloading something that's been dragging him down all his life. "You know the leg I lost in the battle? I never told anyone this, not even Dad or Gobber.

"You stomped on it when I was six, and wouldn't let me get help for hours. Turns out, one of the little bones in my foot healed wrong. We're Vikings, we don't talk about stuff like that. But... It used to hurt to walk on all the time." Toothless whines, purr rising in volume. "Not so much in the summer. In the cold, it always hurt." Hiccup tilts his head with what might be a smile. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Snotlout is crying. "Hiccup…"

Hiccup breathes, hands splayed over Toothless, holding him close to his heart. Toothless licks his chin, still purring and rocking. "It doesn't hurt because it was cut off. You can't cut off memories. But I was a different person then. You were, too."

Hookfang rumbles questioningly. Hiccup straightens to look up at him and Toothless tilts his head to look at Hookfang as well, bringing a wing up to wrap around Hiccup and pressing the side of his face against Hiccup's chest. "Remember when you couldn't find us, Hookfang, and we were stranded on Outcast Island?" Hiccup gestures to Snotlout. "Your rider here could have gotten away, but he came back for me. He fought off two Outcasts as big as my dad with nothing but Toothless' connecting rod. And I knew then that I could trust him to have my back."

Snotlout stares, mouth open.

"He led an entire pack of Speed Stingers onto himself so they wouldn't attack the rest of us. Don't," he glares at Snotlout, "think I didn't see what you did. A  _pack_ of Stingers. More than one sting can kill. You would have died for us. And when we were getting the dragon-root from Viggo's island?" Hookfang winces and looks away. "You dived in front of us." Hiccup looks up at Hookfang for a moment, eyes narrowed, "Hookfang, you were reckless. Snotlout was, too. He was a hero. You were both reckless heroes that day, Hookfang, but your rider most of all. He's had my back through so many battles since then. And he's been doing his level best to change. He doesn't always get it right. He still says stuff that makes me so mad sometimes. But he's the bravest, most loyal friend you could ever hope to have."

"No," Snotlout shakes his head, "I'm not."

Hiccup looks up at Hookfang. "I'm not sure how much you saw of that day, but remember when Snotlout was being held hostage on Outcast Island, and Fishlegs was Thor Bonecrusher?"

Hookfang rumbles and nods. Hiccup goes on, "We were coming in through a ravine. Enemies on either side. At the end, I could just see him, with a bandit holding a sword at his neck." He looks sharply at Snotlout. "Do you remember what you did?"

"Did? I didn't do anything!" Snotlout shakes his head. "I just stood there!"

"You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

Hiccup looks from Hookfang to Snotlout. "You said, 'Hiccup, it's a trap!'"

_"Duh!"_  Snotlout retorts with a flash of his old spirit. "It  _was!"_

"Yes, it was." Hiccup's face is shadowed. "And you wouldn't let anything stop you from warning us. Not even a guy holding a blade at your throat."

"You make it sound like a big deal."

"It was a big deal. You  _leaned forward_ into that sword." Hiccup shakes his head. "Nearly gave me a heart attack." This is going nowhere. Hiccup changes tack. "What were you expecting to accomplish, anyway?" He manages to sound accusatory.

Stung, Snotlout bursts out, "Nothing! I just wanted to get you away!"

"And then what?"

"Who cares?! I didn't think that far ahead, okay? I was supposed to just let you walk into a trap?"

Toothless croons, pleased. Hiccup folds his arms, letting his smugness show in his voice.  _"Exactly."_

"Uh… what?"

"You _didn't_ think that far ahead! You didn't even think about your own life, held hostage with a knife at your throat! The only thing you even cared about was your friends!" Hookfang honks, realizing. Hiccup leans forward. "You didn't want us to walk into a trap, and you risked being killed to warn us."

Snotlout opens his mouth, brows knitting. He blinks. Then he shuts his mouth and looks away. "And you know how loyal your partner is, don't you, Hookfang?" Hiccup says softly, looking up at the Nightmare's head. "You knew before any of us." He sighs, looking from dragon to rider, feeling the years since he was a child weighing heavy on him. "Hookfang, I never thanked you for taking care of Snotlout."

Toothless adds his own croon to Hiccup's words. Hookfang's pupils widen, but Hiccup isn't done. "You've been taking care of him since we were kids. I should have been more considerate of him, but for a long time I couldn't get past him bullying me and beating me up." Hiccup sighs deeply. "I didn't realize at the time," he meets Hookfang's eyes, "that he was jealous of me because I had something he could never have."

"Hey!"

"I'm talking to Hookfang," says Hiccup pointedly. "I knew, kinda, that… that Spitelout was demanding. But back then I just figured he was like my own dad. I was jealous of Snotlout because his dad always bragged about him. Hey, he even bragged about what a great dad he had!" The Nightmare nods encouragingly, wise eyes fixed on Hiccup. "For the longest time, I never realized that he was afraid to come home to his great dad at night."

Hookfang rumbles acknowledgement and Toothless chirps to him in his own tongue. "And he's a better man than his dad will ever be."

"Oh come on! My dad's a hero…"

"Your  _rider_ is a hero, Hookfang," Hiccup says pointedly. "He's saved us all a dozen times over. He'd give his life for us, and it scares me sometimes. He's loving, he's loyal, he's selfless, and he covers it up by being a loudmouth. I trust him," Hiccup's voice is flint and flame, "with my life."

Hookfang nods, looking smug, and licks Snotlout, who's staring, face still wet. "Does he slip up sometimes? Sure he does. But we all do. He's not the same guy who destroyed my work all those years ago." Hiccup looks from the Nightmare to Snotlout's tearstained face. "People can change. I've believed that all my life. My dad changed. Berk changed. And Snotlout changed. He did. He changed."

Hiccup takes his cousin's hand in his. "And I forgive you."

Snotlout chokes. "Hic—"

"Shut up. I forgive you, Snotlout. For making my life miserable. For destroying my projects." Snotlout flinches. His hand fists under Hiccup's. "For saying what you said about my mom. For beating me up. For breaking my foot."

Snotlout withdraws his hand in shame. "Hiccup…"

"It's over. It's done.  _I forgive you,_ Snotlout," says Hiccup firmly. "We're friends now, and I'm not saying you didn't hurt me before but you've more than made up for it and… You wouldn't do it again, right?"

Snotlout winces. "Oh gods." He shudders visibly. "Never."

Hiccup's smile is soft and warm. "Then I forgive you. With—with all my heart."

Snotlout's eyes burn. "I… I don't…"

But Hiccup just forges on, smiling now, like maybe this is a weight off his heart as well. "I forgive you. For all of it. For hurting me. For calling me Useless. For calling me names. For making fun of my peg." Hiccup grins. "You can still do that, by the way. I've kinda gotten used to it."

"Hiccup…"

"For saying I maimed Toothless – it was true." The dragon croons. "Yeah, bud, I know. Thanks." He looks back up at Snotlout. "For Thawfest. All the Thawfests, when you called me a loser and never even shook my hand."

Snotlout looks down at his hands and mumbles something. "It's okay," Hiccup says, although he can't see Snotlout's face, talking instead to the top of Snotlout's bowed head.

Snotlout mutters again. Toothless nudges Hiccup and jerks his head towards Snotlout. "Yeah, bud? –Oh…" Hiccup realizes that Toothless is telling him that Snotlout is trying to get something out. "It's okay, Snotlout. What did you want to say?"

Snotlout's eyes flicker up, then he looks down again, face tight. His mouth twists into a grimace. "…I could do it now."

Hiccup responds with a blank look. "What?"

"Shake it. Now." Snotlout's grimace deepens, like the words are fighting him all the way. "I could shake y—your hand. Shake your hand. Now." He looks fully up at Hiccup. "For Thawfest."

Hiccup's mouth falls open. He stares. Into the silence, Toothless croons, nodding.

Snotlout waits a beat, then two, then looks away. "Sorry. It was a stupid—"

"No!" yells Hiccup, grinning like a maniac and bolting up out of his chair. He leans over Snotlout to get into his line of sight. "No, no, no, you just surprised me is all! Yeah! Yeah, let's…" His grin threatens to split his face as he reaches out. "Congratulations, Snotlout. You were the better Viking today."

Snotlout looks down at Hiccup's hand. Hiccup's right hand is extended, the way it always is when he shakes hands, in deference to others. _For_ others. Hiccup's gotten good at shaking with his right hand, but it's never completely natural for him. And Snotlout doesn't want Hiccup to defer to him this time. This isn't about Snotlout. This is for Hiccup.

Slowly, mindful of his injuries, Snotlout extends his left hand, palm out, offering a handshake.

Hiccup's face goes completely slack and he stares. Toothless purrs into the silence. With the softest smile Snotlout's ever seen, Hiccup brings his extended right hand further forward to cup Snotlout's elbow, and reaches out with his left to clasp Snotlout's hand warmly. "Thank you," he whispers.

They shake hands, slowly and gently so as not to jar Snotlout's injuries. Snotlout doesn't let go when he's done shaking, just keeps his fingers curled around Hiccup's, bringing up his other hand to wrap around their joined grip as well. Hiccup rubs Snotlout's arm with his right hand, careful not to jostle him, his fingers warm and comforting around Snotlout's elbow. Like safety. Like having your back.

Hookfang croons and Toothless watches with wide eyes and a soft, whispering purr. "Y—you were always the better Viking," Snotlout mutters. "I just didn't know it. And then I wouldn't admit it. And…"

Toothless butts Hiccup with his head. Obediently, Hiccup steps forward and palms the back of Snotlout's neck, still holding his hand. Warmth prickles through Snotlout's entire body. "It's  _okay,_ Snotlout," Hiccup says. "I know you've got my back when it counts. We're," he pulls in a shuddering breath, "we're family."

Hookfang rumbles. Hiccup looks up at him, meeting his eye-bulbs. "You too. All of us. You've been more of a brother to him than any of us ever has."

"Give him a swelled head," Snotlout mutters, relaxing into Hookfang's body, hands still curled loosely around Hiccup's.

"Yeah." Hiccup keeps his hand on Snotlout's neck, lowering him to rest against the dragon's tummy. He grins up at Hookfang. "He's earned it."

Hookfang preens and brings his tail round to whap, with infinite gentleness, the side of Snotlout's head.  _See? Someone appreciates me!_

"I appreciate you plenty. You're just a traitor: you never think it counts unless it's someone else doing the appreciating."

Hiccup grins. "You look like you need appreciation with fish." He rubs Snotlout's head gently, then steps away with a final squeeze to Snotlout's hand. He knows he's grinning like an idiot, but he's full to bursting with joy, and he doesn't care. "Hookfang, man the fort while Toothless and I bring you guys some food?"

"I'm not an invalid, you know," Snotlout mutters.

Hiccup sobers. "You almost died."

"Always with the drama, Princess Exaggeration! So I was a little sick! I wouldn't have  _died!"_

Something settles in Hiccup's chest. This feels normal. "I'll let Fishlegs tell you," he says, already turning to go. "Come on, bud." Toothless shoots him a narrow-eyed look as they walk out the door.

* * *

"'Almost died.' Drama queen." Snotlout slumps to the side. "Okay, it was bad for a couple days. I mean, yeah, well… I couldn't…" He's interrupted by a Monstrous Nightmare growl. "Okay, well maybe I still need, like, someone to help me with the harder stuff, but I'm  _fine!_ It wasn't as bad as…"

He might have managed to finish his monologue, too, if he hadn't met Hookfang's eyes. If he hadn't seen the fear in them. And Hookfang is  _never scared._ Well, hardly ever.

"Okay," he says.  _"Fine._ I'll let you have your moment of drama. Dragon diva," he snorts, turning away from Hookfang's concerned and slightly miffed face.

And he settles into his dragon partner's stomach, feeling more deeply healed than can be accounted for by just his wounds closing. Hookfang huffs smoke from his nostrils, snarls, and folds his wing over Snotlout, adjusting his pillow with another rumble as he drifts off.


	17. Chapter 17

“Stormfly, spine shot!”

Snotlout’s head snaps up at the sound of Astrid’s voice just outside Hiccup’s door, seconds before she kicks it open. Stormfly’s spines fly into the room, missing Hookfang. _Sorry, Fire-Scale! Crazy human on the loose, humor her!_ she calls, then scuttles off.

Snotlout blinks, lying on Hookfang’s stomach, seeing Astrid silhouetted in the doorway. She’s bristling with weapons, armed to the teeth with axe, dagger and broadsword, like the Edge is under attack. She strides into the room, unlimbering her double-bladed axe, twirling it and glaring. Snotlout’s still staring. Is he hallucinating?

Astrid hauls off and flings the axe across the room. It’s aimed well wide of them both, but Hookfang still ducks and squeals like a hatchling as it flies, end over end, to _thwock_ into the wooden wall behind them.

She draws her sword. Still with a death-glare, she strides over to Snotlout’s living sickbed. “At ease, Hookfang,” she commands. Then she holds her sword out, pointed at Snotlout’s neck. “Your father is an asshole. Any comment?”

The blade is so tight against Snotlout’s throat that when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs against the point. Snotlout blinks. He doesn’t understand. Astrid’s blue eyes are blazing, but... It’s all so confusing. What...?

Astrid withdraws the sword and slams it point-first into the wooden floor, so hard it vibrates. She steps close to Snotlout, fisting her hands in the sheet covering him up as if she’s holding him by his tunic. “Do you know how I know he’s an asshole?” she asks. Snotlout is still trying to work it through his brain that this means Astrid probably knows, when she sails on. “Because he _hurt you.”_

“H...” It’s hard to argue with an avenging Astrid, but this isn’t something he should let slide. “He di--didn’t h...hurt me... he j--just…”

“He just _what?!!!”_

“He did what--what any f-father would have…”

The glare falls off Astrid’s face. “He what?” she whispers.

“He… d-don’t insult h-him. I d--deserved…”

Now Astrid looks stricken. “You _what?”_

“I… I needed t-to be p-punished f-for letting him… d--”

Astrid lets go of him. “You’re lucky you’re sick,” she says evenly. “Hookfang. Axe?” She holds out her hand. Hookfang obediently plucks the axe from the wall and drops it into Astrid’s waiting palm as Snotlout watches. Traitor.

Astrid grabs Hiccup’s workbench, dragging it around the floor in a circle into Snotlout’s line of sight. “He...” She raises the axe viciously in both hands and swings it down in a great arc. It cleaves the solid oak bench in two. “Hurt...” She takes the axe to the other half of the table. “My...” The halves are quartered. _“Friend.”_

She’s up in Snotlout’s face, snarling. “Answer me this, lover-boy,” she says. “Mister He-Didn’t-Hurt-Me-I-Probably-Deserved-It. You were going to say that, weren’t you?” Snotlout barely manages to let his head bob. Hookfang starts purring beneath him. “How would you feel if someone did to Hookfang what your father did to you?”

Snotlout’s suddenly very cold. The room seems to be fading. Hookfang makes a scared sound.

Something grips his hand. “...drink up for Thor Bonecrusher?” Fishlegs? When did Fishlegs come in here? Something warm passes Snotlout’s lips, and he feels less like his consciousness is draining out of the back of his skull. He closes his eyes and slumps, a warm hand holding his head, Hookfang licking his cheek. “...easy on him, Astrid!”

There’s a splintering sound. Snotlout slits his eyes open. Meatlug is cowering in the corner as Astrid swings her axe, smashing a quarter of the workbench into kindling. Man, Hiccup is going to be so pissed. He liked that workbench.

“I asked him a question, Fishlegs.”

Astrid is standing before him, axe battle-ready over her shoulder, but her tone is light and casual. “I just asked how he’d feel if someone did to Hookfang what his dad did to him.” She twirls the axe. “You know...” Her eyes meet Snotlout’s. “Just think about it. Someone giving Hookfang here a beatdown bad enough to bruise him, tear his hide, break his wings...”

The images churn in Snotlout’s gut and squeeze his lungs. “No!”

Hookfang purrs to Snotlout, licking him, but Astrid is relentless. “Surely he could do _something_ to deserve it?”

Snotlout blinks at Astrid. His mouth opens and closes.

She folds her arms around the axe - does she sleep with that thing? - and leans closer. Fish is still holding Snotlout’s head, watching, but doesn’t interfere. “What about if he let you down? If he didn’t make a rendezvous? Would he deserve it then? What could Hookfang do to earn you breaking his wings?”

Snotlout fumbles blindly for his dragon, fingers closing around his wing-bone, stroking and rubbing. “I… I…” His throat is dry, and Fishlegs obligingly gives him a sip of his latest concoction. “You can’t say that. It’s not like he broke my arms or something.”

Snotlout's head is whirling. Is he actually _talking about this_ with Astrid? Why does it feel... _okay_ _?!_   So... so regular, so  _natural,_ like it was never a secret from her?

 _“Ohhhh.”_ Astrid throws up her arms with a smile that isn’t a smile at all. “Spitelout never broke your arms, that clears everything up. _Now_ I get it. Boy, you sure did set me straight there!” With one last forced laugh, her smile disappears. “So it would be okay with you if I staked Hookfang out,” she meets the dragon’s eyes and he nods, “went out and found a length of dragon-proof chain…” Her voice is deeper, dead serious. “And whipped the scales off him?”

Snotlout chokes. Astrid’s tone is so dark, she sounds like she just might do it. “N--n…”

“What? I wouldn’t be breaking his wings. _You_ just said it was okay. You _said_ it was okay as long as your father didn’t break your arms. Arms, wings, it’s all the same, right?” Astrid plows on, relentless. “What would you do if Hookfang betrayed you? Would you take a mace to him?” Snotlout shudders. Astrid’s voice drops, gentles. “Or would you forgive him?”

Snotlout finds he’s breathing hard. Fishlegs mutters and holds the mug of whatever-that-stuff-is to his lips, and Snotlout gulps gratefully. When Fish lowers the mug, there’s a dagger at Snotlout’s throat. “Astrid,” Fishlegs stammers, “is that really necessary?”

_“Yes.”_

“But…”

“Do _you_ think it’s okay that Snotlout believes he deserved it?”

Fishlegs’ hands on Snotlout are still gentle, but he stiffens. “Of course not!”

Astrid grits her teeth, the dagger never wavering. “Then it’s necessary.”

“Okay, but bear in mind he’s gonna need to sleep soon.” This time Fish’s voice brooks no argument.

“Understood. This’ll just take a minute.” She grips the dagger a little bit tighter and refocuses on Snotlout. “Listen to me, lover-boy. You know why you wouldn’t break Hookfang’s wings? You know why you’d never touch a scale on his hide? The very thought of hurting him makes you feel sick, doesn’t it? Do you know why that is?”

Snotlout blinks, then bobs his head as well as he can for the dagger. “B… W…”

Astrid steps back, lowering the blade. “Because you love him.”

A week ago, Snotlout would have denied it. Hel, a week ago _Hookfang_ would have denied it. But now, both he and his dragon stare at Astrid, Snotlout somehow sensing that Hookfang is gaping just as wide as he is.

The dagger is sheathed and the axe is out. There’s still half a workbench undamaged, after all. “If you love someone,” Astrid grunts, swinging the axe round to cleave the other half in two, “you can’t,” whack, “bear,” whack, “the thought of them being HURT!” And with a flurry of movement, the entire bench is reduced to kindling.

Snotlout blinks. “Uh…”

She’s back in Snotlout’s face in the next instant, axe over her shoulder, dagger at his throat. “If you call what HE does to you ‘love’, or ‘looking out for you’, then you _spit_ on your and Hookfang’s relationship! You spit on _our_ friendship!”

Hookfang blinks. A moment later, so does his rider.

“You heard me! _Our_ friendship. Yours. And mine. What he did to you is not love! I _will not_ tolerate you calling that love! I will not allow you to dishonor our friendship! I would die for you, Snotlout Jorgenson!” The dagger is back at his throat. “I would die for you because you are my shieldmate and my friend! No matter how much of a muttonhead you can be! No matter what you say, no matter if you let me down. I trust you. We’re not just friends - we’re _kin. Family._ And I know you’d die for me just like I’d die for you. We belong to each other, we look out for each other. All of us. We _protect_ each other. That’s how it is, that’s how it works. Any questions?”

The dagger is still at Snotlout’s throat. Snotlout shakes his head a fraction and squeaks.

“Good. Because this is how it works: When you love someone, you don’t hurt them – you keep them _safe._ You’d rather be hurt than see them hurt. You _look out for them,_ because all you want is for them to be okay.”

“He--he…” Snotlout makes one last valiant attempt to defend his father. “He was l… looking out f…” Snotlout manages to quaver out.

Astrid throws her head back and roars. Hookfang shrieks and covers his face with his wing. When he takes it off, Astrid’s swapped out her dagger for her axe, holding the blade at Snotlout’s throat. “Looking out for you? LOOKING OUT FOR YOU!?!” Her voice drops to a hiss. “Hookfang has taken arrows for you. He’s taken blows for you. That’s looking out for you. I’ve taken arrows for Stormfly, I’ve been poisoned for Stormfly. That’s looking out for you. Toothless took the Red Death’s blast, took a fall he knew could kill him, nearly broke every bone in his body, for Hiccup. That’s looking out for you. That. Is. Love. _Do you **hear** me?”_

Snotlout opens his mouth, then closes it again. Astrid clenches her fists. “You better hear me, Snotlout. You better. Because I know one thing, you—you muttonhead! You IDIOT!” she shrieks. _“You look out for us!_ Because YOU have love in your heart!”

With a battle-cry, she swings round and lets the axe fly. The blade buries itself deep into Hiccup’s staircase. “I’ve seen you risk your life for us, Snotlout. I’ve seen you get hurt so we’ll be safe. I put my life in your hands every time we go out there, and I trust you with it. You know why? Because…” Her voice drops. “Snotlout, _you know_ what love is. You know what _friendship_ is. I know I’m going to regret saying this, but you’re a good man, Snotlout. A loyal friend. A man of honor. Sure you act like a muttonhead, but you have a loving heart.” She grabs his sheet in both fists again and yells in his face as though she’s insulting him. _“You_ know the real meaning of love and friendship, Snotlout Jorgenson!” Her voice drops. “And I will _kill you,_ ” she grates out in dead earnest, “before I allow you to let Spitelout _fucking poison it.”_

“So.” She leans back, arms folded, voice light and casual. “Your dad’s an asshole. I rest my case.”

Snotlout croaks.

Astrid calmly sheathes her dagger. Then she saunters over to the staircase, plucks her axe out of it as though it weighs nothing, slings it over her shoulder and walks out the door. “Soup’s up in an hour, Fishlegs,” she calls over her shoulder as though nothing has happened. “Hookfang, I’ll bring you some fish.”

* * *

 

The four of them stare at the opening of the door. Meatlug lets out a little whine of relief and slumps to the floor. “You okay?” Fishlegs asks, still sounding a bit dazed.

“Uh…” Snotlout always thought he’d be mortified at anyone knowing – especially Astrid. And now she knows, but he feels nothing but relief. He blinks at the door. Boy, does she _ever_ know. “Astrid knows,” he says woodenly.

“I didn’t tell her,” says Fishlegs.

“It must be Hiccup,” Snotlout guesses, feeling strangely unruffled. “He always was a shitty liar.” Fishlegs giggles. “What? He is.”

They’re both silent for a long moment. Snotlout looks round at the axe marks on the walls – at the pile of firewood on the floor. “Hiccup’s gonna need a new workbench,” Snotlout says lamely.

Fishlegs looks over at the neatly chopped-up wood. He blinks. “It could be worse,” he says. “That could be our heads.”

Hookfang honks and nods, with feeling. Meatlug squeaks in alarm. And Snotlout starts to laugh.

It must be contagious: Fishlegs lets out his cute little chuckle, and then it’s a full-fledged fit of the giggles. Snotlout catches Fishlegs’ eye and they burst out laughing, roaring with laughter. He rubs Hookfang’s stomach and smiles up at him, and is rewarded with the sound of Hookfang’s honking laugh, slower and deeper, above them. Gods, Hookfang has been so unhappy lately, it’s healing to hear him laughing with them. Even Meatlug is snuffling her Gronckle-giggle in the corner.

It hurts to laugh, but it feels so _good,_ and Snotlout can’t help himself, and he laughs and laughs and laughs. Astrid knows, and she cares for him, respects him still. He would deny it if he could, but he can’t. Hiccup’s hut has the axe marks to prove it. Astrid doesn’t think less of him: she’s acting like Snotlout was worked over by some hunter, injured by Viggo or Ryker.  He can ride by Astrid’s side like before, work and play and fight with her like before. Nothing has changed between them. And nobody _still_ wants to be on the wrong side of her axe.

He laughs until Fishlegs makes him drink a sleeping-draught, and he sinks into slumber that’s warmed and edged with joy.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Hiccup is there when the door bursts open and the twins stalk in.

They’re wrapped all in black, brandishing matching daggers and walking in sync. “What is it,” Snotlout groans before _oh gods they know_ can even kick in, “about people coming in here waving _weapons_ all over the place?”

Toothless nods in complete agreement, rolling his eyes and vocalizing. Hiccup’s head snaps up from his notebook, staring from the twins to Snotlout and Toothless. Hookfang is looking at them with much the same expression of shock.

“Thorston and Thorston, assassins, at your service.” Ruffnut performs a deep bow, her black cloak – _cloak? –_ swirling around her. Where in the seven worlds did she and the other lunatic get a pair of matching cloaks?

“Tell us when and where you want the deed done, and it shall, indeed,” adds Tuffnut, bowing as well.

Hiccup surges to his feet. Well, foot. “What deed?” he splutters. “Who let you two in here? Where did you come from?”

“He asks where we come from. Should we tell him, Brother-Nut? Do you think he’s ready for that information?”

Tuffnut strokes his chin. “It might traumatize young Hiccup, for he may yet believe the stork brings babies, and…”

“Quit that!”

Snotlout is more amused than anything to see that Hiccup’s outright yelling. Ever since Astrid burst in brandishing an axe, he’s been feeling he’s stepped into an alternate Archipelago, so he might as well go with it. “Pipe down, peg leg. Free entertainment.”

“See, young Snotlout knows our worth!” Ruffnut raises the cloak, covering all her face except her eyes, hunching her shoulders and sliding her gaze left and right. Tuffnut follows suit and they stalk, vulture-like, to Hookfang’s side, as Hiccup and Toothless exchange glances and roll their eyes. “Now tell us, client…”

“How and where do you want us to do the deed?”

Snotlout has to blink at that. “What deed?”

“Patricide, of course!” hisses Ruffnut.

“Hey, Thorston?” Tuffnut cuts in.

“Yes, Thorston?”

“Does it count as patricide if it’s not our actual father?”

“Hmm.” Ruffnut drops her assassin façade and rubs her chin. “Technically, no; but, if you take into account that young Jorgenson is our client, and he would be commissioning the deed to be committed upon _his_ father, thus being the ultimate mastermind behind it, as it were…”

“I always wanted to be an ultimate mastermind,” Tuffnut sighs.

“There, there. You can be one next time.”

“HEY!” Hiccup bellows. “Nobody’s committing anything around here! Except you two! You should be committed! To Insane Island!”

“You wound me, young Hiccup. You wound me deeply,” Tuffnut says, putting his hands on his chest dramatically.

Ruffnut leans in towards her brother and half-whispers, “Should we even have him around? He is a witness. This line of work requires no witnesses.”

“Ah, but Sister, he is no witness, but an accomplice!”

“Oh gods…” Hiccup buries his face in his hand. “I give up. You want ‘em out of here?” he asks Snotlout.

“No.” Snotlout finds himself grinning. “They can stay.”

“Okay. C’mon, Toothless. I’d like to leave while at least part of my brain still works.” Toothless makes a sound and raises an eyebrow. “I do so have a working brain, you unfair reptile,” Hiccup grouses as they disappear out the door. Hiccup hops onto Toothless’ back, the tailfin clicks into position, and they surge up into the sky.

* * *

 

Once Hiccup is gone, the twins crouch on the same side of Hookfang, so Snotlout can see them easily. “Come, Hookfang, my child,” Ruffnut invites the dragon, who huffs and narrows his eyes, but lowers his head to her extended arm. “Now let us speak of murder most foul.”

“Foul, indeed,” says Tuffnut, “but in this case, ‘tis fair.” His hand settles on Snotlout’s arm, gripping lightly through the blanket. “What say you, young Snotlout?”

Snotlout looks from one to the other. Their tone is light, but their eyes are warm, and the fire in them rivals Hookfang’s flame. He shivers to see it. His mouth opens and closes. “Uh… Y…” is all he can say.

Ruffnut palms his cheek, the fire in her eyes rising. He wants to lift his hand to cover hers, he really does. He should be strong enough to do it. He grins gamely, grits his teeth, and raises his arm. It gets as far as chest-level before the pain gets bad. But that’s ridiculous. A Viking should push through pain. He lifts his arm higher, ignoring how it starts to tremble. He can’t help a groan.

“Loki’s hairy snatch, take it _easy,_ Snotlout!” Ruffnut grabs his shaking arm before Hookfang’s supportive claw can reach him while Tuffnut lunges for the blanket, which has slipped off and fallen to the floor. And of course, today _would_ be one of Fishlegs’ “let’s leave the bandages off to let it breathe” days, and of course he’s been hurting too much to wear anything but his smallclothes, so of _course_ Ruffnut and Tuffnut are treated to a grandstand view of his whipping, even his legs. Snotlout steels himself, cringing inwardly, just before Hookfang rumbles and drapes a wing over his body.

_“Whoa!”_ Ruffnut and Tuffnut chorus in perfect unison. “That… Is… _Awesome!”_

“Get that wing off, Hookfang!” Tuffnut shoves at the appendage in question. “I’ve never _seen_ such awesome scars! Oh Emm Tee!”

“I want another look!” Ruffnut chimes in.

Under Hookfang’s wing, Snotlout knows he should be offended, that they’re just trying to make him feel better. But he can’t help the warmth that spreads through him. “It’s okay, Fangster,” he smiles up at his friend. “You can move it away.”

“Oh _yeah!”_ By the time Hookfang lifts his wing, Tuffnut is already picking up the blanket, but he gives another admiring stare. “Now _that’s_ what I’m _talking_ about!” He covers Snotlout up. Hookfang tucks the blanket in, which is just as well: Snotlout was starting to shiver. It’s chilly in here.

“You must have been ALL OVER blood!” Ruffnut’s grin is splitting her face. “I wish I had _seen_ that!”

“You,” Tuffnut grins at Snotlout, “are gonna have some _serious_ scars.”

“Did you _see_ his side?” Ruffnut enthuses. “It was all… the _skin_ was like _ripped off!”_ she grins with ghoulish delight. “And even now he’s still,” her voice drops into a lower register, _“bloody.”_ She says it as three syllables.

“Speaking as a connoisseur, for me it was the legs,” Tuffnut says over his shoulder to Ruffnut before turning back to Snotlout. “Anyone can have scars on their upper body. It takes real effort to get leg scars, my friend.”

“Unless you’re Hiccup,” Ruffnut cuts in.

“Does losing said leg count as a leg scar?”

“Needs further study.”

Hookfang huffs and shakes his head, but Snotlout’s mouth is turning up in spite of himself. Tuffnut is still waxing lyrical. “When you get better, Loki’s _tits,_ you are gonna have something to show off!”

“I like it,” Ruffnut whispers, sultry, leaning close. “I like it _very much.”_

Tuffnut leans in. “Sister-Nut!” he stage-whispers. “Remember your duty, your calling! You are an _assassin!”_

Ruff straightens, the smile falling off her face. “That’s right. And we’ll even do it for free.”

Tuff stands next to her in the same stiff-backed pose, face set and hard. “Name the time and date, and he’s _toast_.”

Hookfang rumbles, nodding approval. Snotlout blinks up at them. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes filled with the same fire he’s only seen in battle, when they cry ‘See you in Valhalla!’ There’s mischief in their eyes, but he does not, _cannot,_ doubt their sincerity. They’re completely crazy, absolutely devoted to the god they serve. And utterly devoted to him. He doesn’t doubt that if he asked them to kill his dad, they’d do it. For what his dad did to him. In his own way, they’re saying that Snotlout didn’t deserve it, pledging to protect him, telling him their allegiance lies with him, reaffirming their friendship and loyalty. He feels his throat thicken.

“You two are nuts,” he mutters.

_“Duh!”_ Ruffnut retorts, drawing it out into two syllables. “Tell us something we _don’t_ know!”

“Have we been introduced?” Tuffnut holds out his hand. “Tuffnut and Ruffnut Thorston, at your service.”

“Assassins extraordinaire.”

“Among other things.”

“Only it’s _Ruffnut_ and _Tuffnut_ Thorston, not the other way around.”

_“Nut_ the other way around.”

Why are his eyelids heavy? There’s a deep purr underneath him. Hookfang must be telling the twins it’s Snotlout’s nap-time or something. He has to open his eyes and tell Hookfang he’s not a kid who needs a nap. Huh, when did he close his eyes? And why is it so hard to open them?

…And what is that hand on his face?

“The Nuts got you covered,” Ruffnut whispers, her breath warm against his ear.

A warm, callused hand slips into Snotlout’s, squeezing. “We’ll kill him if you want us to,” says Tuffnut. “Or hold off if you don’t. You can be an honorary Nut. Or not. Your wish is our command.”

“Yeah, enjoy it while it lasts. Being nice to you is weird.”

“Only _we_ get to make you collateral damage. Anyone else gets it in the Nuts.”

Ruffnut moves up next to her brother to clasp Snotlout’s forearm. There’s a delicate brush of fingers against his rope-burned wrist, then the hand moves to his elbow, gripping harder. It doesn’t hurt, though – it feels nice.

Snotlout wants to thank them. But sleep is dragging him down. As he drifts off, he feels Tuffnut brush his hair back and – did Tuff just kiss his forehead? Nope. That’s got to be a hallucination from the fever.

Then Hookfang’s wings fold around him, shutting out the world.

* * *

It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly a moon-cycle. In some ways it feels like it’s been no time at all, and in others it feels like years. Snotlout doesn’t ever remember feeling so _comfortable_ before.

It’s an odd thing to say, the state he’s in. He’s still as weak as a Terror-hatchling, and it hurts a bit to move. But he’s never been so cared for, so… so supported. Fishlegs comes around twice daily and takes him for walks – ‘walks’, indeed, a  toddler could walk faster – around the room to get him stronger. Now that’s _literal_ support. Fishlegs half-carries him, pausing often to let him catch his breath like he’s a hundred years old (although Gothi doesn’t need to take as many breaks as he does). The exercise has helped a lot: he can use the chamber-pot on his own now, only very occasionally needing his willingly-offered Nightmare-assist.

With a bit of coaxing, Snotlout has been managing to get Hookfang to leave the room for longer periods: he knows how antsy his partner gets when he can’t stretch his wings. Whatever else his sickness has done, it’s brought him and Hookfang closer. His prickly partner has shown him more affection in the weeks he’s been ill than he has in the entire time they’ve been together. Snotlout can’t deny it’s felt… well… nice. Maybe there’s something about being weakened, like physically, that makes you kinda want to be, well, close. Held. Taken care of. He can’t see it lasting forever – he and Hookfang are both badass guys, after all – but he can’t deny the little flutter in his heart every time his partner licks his wounds and purrs over him and busses his face with his chin and shows him in a thousand ways that he… well… cares. And gods, Snotlout cares, too. So much. Like, a _whole damn lot._ He doesn’t really think he’s done anything to earn Hookfang’s… feelings, but he’s really happy his partner feels that way.

And… and the _team._ Snotlout’s been able to figure out that the dragons know – probably knew for a while, too. Stormfly came in and nuzzled Hookfang so much that Snotlout started making off-color jokes about the Nadder and the Nightmare, and Stormfly shot spines into Hiccup’s wall. (Gods, Hiccup’s place is a _mess._ They’ll have to make it up to him somehow.) Meatlug’s always in with Fish and one time she even licked Snotlout’s feet – now _that_ was embarrassing, and it made him laugh until Fish persuaded her to cut it out, afraid he’d hurt himself more laughing – and Barf and Belch have been poking their heads in and chittering to Hookfang in their quick, high-pitched tongue, bussing and scent-marking Snotlout as well.

But even more stunning was the humans. Hiccup and Fishlegs have taken better care of him than his own mother this entire moon-cycle, insisting that they _want_ to do it, because they... they  _care._ Astrid has been in a few times after her tough-love session, sitting at the foot of Snotlout's bed and updating him on the latest Dragon Hunter activity or talking strategy with Hiccup. Her attitude is all business, but she wraps a warm hand around Snotlout's ankle over the blanket and rubs her thumb steadily back and forth over his shin all the time she's there, careful to pretend it isn't happening. Snotlout knows better than to mention it. Ruffnut and Tuffnut come in together or separately, not asking him to exert himself at all, just delivering long convoluted monologues about (in Tuffnut's case) what to get Chicken for her birthday and how to redecorate Hiccup's hut, and (in Ruffnut's) insane theories about the world being a giant ball and Thor-knows-what else. Ruff and Tuff always pet his head before they go, like he's a dragon or something. And Snotlout can't get over the warm smiles they - Ruff, Tuff, Astrid - give him as they leave. He always blinks, but it hasn't turned out to be a hallucination yet.

All his life, Snotlout's hidden his secret under lock and key, always afraid of what the others would do if they found out. Never in a hundred years would he have expected this support, this respect, this easy acceptance and simple friendship. He thought they’d… He buries his face in the pillow. Mock him? Treat him – his heart aches, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever stop aching – treat him like they used to treat Hiccup? Act glad that he got his comeuppance? Kick him when he’s down, like Snotlout used to do to Hiccup? He groans.

Hookfang quarks and licks him. “It’s okay, Fangster. I’m not hurting,” he mumbles, “I was just… I was so gods-damned cruel to Hiccup.” He cringes in shame. “I was _happy_ when he was miserable. Hurting. When I made him cry, it…” He feels himself heat in a way that has nothing to do with his fever. “It made me feel powerful. Like I was—strong. In control. It made me hurt less.” Hookfang whuffs. “I… He said. He said he knew. Every time—when… when I’d uh. Earned a… uh.” He grits his teeth. “I took it out on him.” Hookfang licks Snotlout’s face, but he squeezes his eyes shut. “How can I forgive myself?”

The sound that comes from Hookfang is soft. He tongues a spot on Snotlout’s shoulder where there’s a little pucker. Snotlout remembers that: he got it when Hookfang chomped him one time they were having a disagreement. “Quit that, Hookfang,” he says mildly. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but…”

Hookfang tongues the spot again. Pointedly.

Snotlout pauses. “Okay, you’re trying to tell me something.” He thinks. “What was I saying?” Then his chest tightens. “Oh. Hiccup. What I did to him. I was such a bully. I feel like a piece of yak dung for—” Hookfang taps Snotlout’s scar with a loud whine. “What’s that got to do with Hiccup? _You_ put this on me.” Then realization blasts through him. “Oh…” Snotlout’s eyes are suddenly wet. “No. You never treated me the way I treated Hiccup, Fangster. It’s different.” He swallows. “I was bigger than him. He was smaller and weaker, and I used my strength to—” Hookfang groans. “Fangster? You okay?”

Hookfang uses a wing to gesture to himself, then to Snotlout. _I’m bigger too. You’re smaller and weaker than me._ Then he breathes a small puff of flame.  _And I flamed you._

Snotlout’s mouth falls open. “Oh no, Hookfang!” Snotlout fumbles for his partner’s wing, which Hookfang obligingly brings around for him to hold. He wraps his fingers tightly around the wing-bone. “I get that, but…” He pauses, understanding. “You don’t think you _bullied_ me, do you? Like--like I bullied Hiccup?”

For answer, Hookfang sweeps the tip of his prehensile tail up and down his own gigantic body, and then points to Snotlout’s comparatively tiny frame. Then he tongues the scar he put on Snotlout yet again, and lets out a rumbling groan.

“Aw, no, Hooky,” Snotlout says softly. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t deserve…” But he trails off as Hookfang shakes his head. His tail taps Snotlout’s fresh welts, the old pucker on his shoulder, all of it, and he shakes his head violently. “Uh, okay… you’re saying I didn’t deserve any of it?” Hookfang nods vigorously. “Well, neither did Hiccup, and I made his life miserable.” Hookfang just looks at Snotlout. “Yeah… yeah, he forgave me… he said I made up for…”

And Hookfang honks at ‘forgave.’

Snotlout blinks at Hookfang. “Hookfang, you made up for it a hundred times over! Of course I forgive you for flaming me!”

Hookfang taps Hiccup’s empty chair with his tail, then taps Snotlout’s chest. He tilts his head at Snotlout. “Uh… Hiccup forgave me? For... the stuff I did?”

Hookfang nods,  _yes._ Then he taps the scar he, Hookfang, put on Snotlout - _for this_ , then Snotlout’s chest, _you,_ then he gestures to himself,  _forgave me._

“Oh…” Snotlout whispers. Now he gets what Hookfang’s saying! “Hiccup forgave me… and… and I forgive you… so… so…” Hookfang taps Snotlout’s chest, then his temple, then his chest again. “I… I should… forgive… myself?”

Hookfang nods. Then he tilts his head, makes a mournful sound and taps the scar on Snotlout’s shoulder.  _F_ _or this,_ he touches his tail to his own chest,  _myself,_  he shakes his head: _Not-forgive._

“Oh _no!”_ Snotlout reaches out with both arms. “No, Fangster! Of course you should forgive yourself! You—” But he’s interrupted by another, more decisive, tap on his, Snotlout’s, chest. “You, what? You won’t forgive yourself unless _I_ forgive myself? Since when do you follow my example?”

Hookfang narrows his eyes. _Since now._

“Huh,” Snotlout mutters, backed into a corner. “Okay. Okay. Hiccup forgives _me_ I forgive _you_ you forgive _me_ you forgive _yourself_ I guess I can join this big happy forgiving party,” he grumbles, warmth spreading through his heart.

Hiccup and Toothless choose this moment to make an entrance, loaded down with buckets of fish. Hiccup helps Snotlout off Hookfang’s belly and starts to walk him round the room for his strengthening exercises, while Snotlout smiles fondly at his dragon partner scarfing down his food.

* * *

At bedtime, Snotlout snuggles up on Hookfang’s tummy. Only a day or two now and he can go back to sleeping in a normal bed, said Fishface, although Hookfang had something to say about that. Snotlout wouldn’t have thought Hookfang was that overprotective. He must admit it feels kinda nice.

Right now, Hookfang’s licking at Snotlout’s scabs. He’s pretty much all scabbed over by now: it’s not just the welts or cuts, but even some places where the skin was raw but unbroken. It kind of restricts his movement, but at least he’s not bleeding every time he changes position. The licking makes the scabs a bit more flexible, so he can move better. “Thanks,” he smiles, reaching blindly out for Hookfang’s wing. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to assert his authority over Hookfang after this… Then he grins. Not like Hookfang ever listened to him anyway. He only ever listens to Hiccup, but other than that, Hookfang’s always done what he wants.

Snotlout’s breath catches.

If that’s true, and he knows it is, then it means… it means Hookfang _wants_ to be here. Wants to have Snotlout on his stomach, in his wings. Wants to be taking care of him.

He blinks up at Hookfang, still industriously licking his wounds, matter-of-factly steadying him with a claw around his elbow. Hookfang warbles questioningly. _Warbles._ Hookfang never warbles. Or at least… never used to. Snotlout opens his mouth, hesitates, remembers what his ma used to say about sitting around with his mouth open and drawing flies. Well, there aren’t any flies out here. He closes his mouth and swallows. He should probably keep his mouth shut. He remembers saying embarrassing things to Hookfang under the influence of Fishlegs’ concoctions. _Lots_ of embarrassing things. Things like I love you. Things like don’t leave me.

Hookfang starts to purr, bringing his chin down to nuzzle Snotlout. Snotlout raises an arm – steady now, getting steadier every day – to stroke Hookfang’s snout. Hookfang croons and licks Snotlout’s hand.

The gesture makes Snotlout’s heart feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest. He almost says, ‘This doesn’t mean we care for each other, does it?’ He almost says it out loud. The words tremble on his tongue.

And then he remembers something. Years and years ago, now. Hookfang rampaging through the village, maddened with pain. Gobber realizing Hookfang had a bad tooth, helping him instead of killing him. Hookfang nuzzling Snotlout as he laughed in relief, lifting him up on his snout. And Snotlout rejecting him. Publicly. Puffing up his chest in front of all the Vikings, asking arrogantly, ‘Can you train that out of him?’ All he was thinking of was how he looked in front of everyone. It’s only now, years later, that he remembers how Hookfang fled into the night.

Hookfang was crushed, Snotlout realizes. Because Snotlout rejected him in front of his kin, his chief, his team, his whole village. But Hookfang stayed on as his partner nevertheless. Believing… believing Snotlout didn’t care? Surely not. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all Hookfang. “You don’t think I don’t care, Hooky... do you?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Snotlout’s been around Hookfang long enough to recognize dragon patronizing. Hookfang licks him and pets his head as if to say ‘don’t worry your little human head about that now.’

The response worries Snotlout. “Hookfang. Do you… Do you think… You’re not just—You’re…”

Hookfang’s less patronizing now and more worried. He hooks a claw into the blanket and pulls it over Snotlout, crooning. His wings cradle Snotlout. _Quiet_ , he purrs _. Rest._

“I don’t _need_ to rest. Listen to me.” The worst of it is that Hookfang’s purring is soothing, and now that the tongue-bath has stopped his healing scars itching, Snotlout just wants to sleep. “I…” He swallows. “Hooky, you’re family. You know that, don’t you?”

Hookfang growls. It startles Snotlout, until he remembers that the scars Hookfang is still tending were caused by Snotlout’s family. “I mean you’re _important_ to me.” He fumbles for the wing that’s always just within reach. “You’ve done more for me…” Hookfang tilts his head as Snotlout wraps his hands round the edge of his wing. “Remember when I first met you?” he says. It’s stupid babbling, but it’s all he can think to say. “I was so scared.”

For a moment, Hookfang stops moving entirely. His pupils narrow, then widen. His tail comes round to tap at his own dragon chest. For a moment, Snotlout doesn’t take his meaning, it’s so shocking. _So was I._

“What?” he stammers. “No way. You’re a big scary dragon and I’m just a – well yeah I’m big and scary but I’m not Stoick! I…”

Snotlout pauses. He just felt a distinct tremor in the body underneath him at the word ‘Stoick.’ “Hooky… You know Chief Stoick would never hurt a dragon, don’t you? At least, not anymore…” his voice trails off.

And Hookfang looks away.

“Oh, man,” Snotlout breathes, realizing. He can feel Hookfang’s breath coming faster beneath him. “They were the ones who captured you, didn’t they? Stoick and Gobber and… and maybe my dad, too…” Another shudder and a hastily cut-off nod. “And they put you in the cages…” Snotlout’s heart squeezes. Hookfang, his partner, his own big scary dragon partner, captive, condemned to death. “Hiccup…” He feels sick at the memory. “Hiccup was supposed to—to uh…” He swallows. “That day… You were meant to be killed.”

Hookfang nods. With his jaws closed, he whimpers, the sound impossibly small and thin for such a big guy. It breaks Snotlout's heart.

“C’mere, big boy.” Snotlout reaches out as far as he can, aching to hold Hookfang. “C’mere, Fangster.” But Hookfang is still looking away, in something that seems like shame. “Hookfang.” Snotlout makes his voice as pitiful and weak as possible. “I can’t move too good. It hurts.” Hookfang rumbles, but makes no move to look at Snotlout. Time to break out the emotional blackmail. “Okay, I’ll just have to come to you,” Snotlout sighs, and sits up. A scab splits and he makes no effort to hold back his gasp of pain.

Hookfang roars and swings his head round so fast that Snotlout’s half-afraid he’ll hurt himself. Instantly, he flings his arms around Hookfang’s snout before Hookfang can go all nursemaid on him. “Gotcha,” he says. He’s got the dragon cornered: Hookfang can’t wrench himself out of Snotlout’s arms without hurting him, and Snotlout knows he won’t do that. “Hey. Hey. Fangster. Just listen,” Snotlout whispers, cheek pressed against his friend’s face, feeling the dragon’s trembling skin beneath his own and the huffing of his flared nostrils. “I’d be dead without you. Not just this time, a hundred times over. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. Hookfang, you’re…” He finds himself choking up, but he won’t hide it. Hookfang needs to know. “I gotta tell you.” Hookfang rumbles, but Snotlout won’t accept the dismissal. “I’m never hiding it again. I’m gonna yell it from the rooftops. You’re my partner.” He chokes. “If you want me… you’re my brother, Hookfang.”

Hookfang stills. Snotlout gives him time to take it in. Hesitantly at first, then gaining in strength and volume, Hookfang starts to purr, the sound rumbling underneath Snotlout where he lies. Snotlout rubs his cheek back and forth against Hookfang’s jaw, like a dragon scent-marking. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. You’re my own big scary dragon. If you want.” Hookfang whines at that and tilts his head enough to let his tongue dart out and lick the scab on Snotlout’s back that split open. He shudders, probably from the taste of the blood. Snotlout shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. You don't gotta always take care of me, you know.”

Snotlout’s cut off by the odd combination – odd for anyone else, not for Hookfang – of a tail-whap upside the head and a continuation of the gentle licking. “You’ve been nursemaiding me for…”

Another tail-whap, and then Hookfang folds his wings around Snotlout. He doesn’t need to understand dragon-tongue to know Hookfang is saying _There’s no place I’d rather have you. Here is where I want you to stay._

“Okay. Me too, Hooky,” Snotlout manages to say past the lump in his throat. “I… I want to be here too. I feel…” Ah, what the Hel. “There’s no place I feel safer. This is home. This, right here. With you.”

The rumble under him is _protectiveness –_ he’s seen an overprotective Hookfang enough to recognize that tone. Snotlout lets his eyes close in bliss as a scaly chin nuzzles his cheek, and pets the wings wrapped around him and the bit of dragon-tummy not covered by the quilt. Hookfang flutters his wings soothingly.  _Enough exertion. Nap now._

Snotlout feels himself start to drift, strangely at peace. He’s talked things out with Hiccup – he’ll never get over the guilt of what he did to him, but at least he can try to make up for what he’s done – he’s hashed things out with the twins – _crazy idiots,_ he thinks fondly – he and Astrid have reached a sort of détente, and she’s shown herself to be kind of a crazy idiot as well. Which leaves Fishface…

Out of nowhere, two voices crowd into his head at the same time. _That Hookfang? It’s a thing, like a mace or a sword. Just a thing. It can’t feel. All the soft-hearted talk in the world won’t change that._ He groans and Hookfang croons to him. But the second of those voices is Fishlegs’. _Let’s just assume that everything he’s ever taught you is wrong._

_Everything he's ever taught you is wrong._

Snotlout stiffens.

Hookfang nuzzles Snotlout, wrapping his wings closer, and quarks a question. Snotlout shakes his head. “I’m fine, Hooky, I just… I need to talk to Fishlegs about something. I’m thinking about some stuff.” Hookfang rumbles. “No, no, he didn’t hurt me! He just said something about my dad—Hey!” Hookfang heats up, but catches himself before he bursts into flame. The deep, angry growl beneath Snotlout tells him just what Hookfang thinks about his dad. “I know, I know. Hey,” Snotlout coaxes. “Hey.” He reaches up to caress Hookfang’s snout. “I got you. I know you’re my fierce dragon and you won’t let anything hurt me,” he chuckles affectionately, heart filling. “I know, Fangster. You got this.”

The growling abates, just a little. “I know I’m safe with you, Hookfang. Fishlegs isn’t gonna hurt me, he—he has some ideas I need to—I just…” He sighs deeply. “Next time he comes in, I gotta talk to him.”

And he will. He’ll be rational and reasonable and talk to Fishlegs like a mature adult. He’ll show respect for his viewpoint and calmly find out what he meant by what he said.  


	19. Chapter 19

Notes: The dragon names are 10Blue10's. Final warning for graphic violence and whump.

* * *

When Fishlegs walks in, mug in hand, Meatlug by his side, Snotlout is ready with his calm, measured argument. He opens his mouth to speak in a cool, reasonable tone. "Fishface, you're so dumb. And you're all wrong! Everything you said is wrong!"

Hookfang smacks a wing over his snout. Snotlout stares in shock. That wasn't what he meant to say at  _all!_

What's worse, Fishlegs seems to take it in stride. There's even an amused smile playing around the corners of his eyes and mouth. "Glad to see you're feeling better, Snotlout."

"I didn't mean it that way!" Snotlout snaps.

Fishlegs smiles wider, still soft, absorbed in stirring whatever medicine he's mixing. "I know."

"Don't patron—uh, petri—petra—petra—just don't  _do_ that!"

With a dragon smile, Meatlug tilts her head and rumbles to Hookfang. Hookfang rolls his eyes and nods.

"And _you!"_ Snotlout snaps to Hookfang. "Just because I'm laid up doesn't mean you get to treat me like some kinda…"

Fish lunges forward, arm outstretched toward the dragon. "Don't flame him! He's still healing!"

Hookfang rolls his eyes again, clearly saying  _as if I would._ Then he sticks his tongue under Snotlout's tunic and tickles.

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!" Snotlout giggles. Hookfang withdraws his head and narrows his eyes. Snotlout raises his hands in surrender, palms up. He can lift his arms almost all the way now. "You're  _my_ dragon," he grins, parodying himself. "You listen to  _me._  You…" Hookfang shoves his tongue back under his tunic and tickles his tummy again, making Snotlout laugh out loud. Even this simple movement tells him how much better he is: the pull on his scabs is no longer flinching soreness but the clean healthy hurt of healing. "Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he grins, and Hookfang licks him.  _All is forgiven._ Then Snotlout turns to Fishlegs. "I'm sorry too."

Fishlegs glances up briefly before going back to his stirring. "Who are you and what have you done with Snotlout?"

"Ah, c'mon! You sound like all I ever do is give you guys a hard time!"

Hookfang raises an eyebrow and honks.

Snotlout pouts. "You stay out of this!"

There's a soft smile on Fishlegs' face as he holds out the mug to Snotlout. "Here."

Snotlout blinks, looking quietly up at Fishlegs. He can hold the mug steady now, and he's regained enough muscle control to raise it and drink without spilling anything. Fishlegs and Hiccup really went above and beyond in nursing him back to health. "Thanks, Fishface," he murmurs when it's empty.

Fishlegs plucks the mug smoothly from Snotlout's hand. How can such a big guy be so graceful? "My pleasure," says Fishlegs, and he sounds like he means it. Which is a mystery for another time: Snotlout doesn't know  _why_ he cares, why any of them care, but he's kind of accepted that they do. At least for now.

Fishlegs turns and sets the mug aside. "You're doing really well," he smiles, and Snotlout feels warm inside, like he's being praised for an achievement instead of having his health assessed. "I think tomorrow we can start working on walking outside, maybe some  _very_ short flights with Hookfang."

Hookfang lets out an undignified little squawk of surprise and looks at Fishlegs funny. It's not a stretch to interpret his  _Are you sure?_

"If you're planning acrobatics or the stunts you usually pull, I'll take him up on Meatlug instead," Fishlegs threatens. Meatlug giggles from her place in the corner. Hookfang snorts and folds his wings over Snotlout.

"Let me out," Snotlout mutters, tapping on a wing-bone like he's knocking on a door. "Overprotective bastard." But just before Hookfang can lift his wing, Snotlout closes his eyes and gives the smooth scales a tiny peck. Hookfang trembles, but doesn't make a sound.

As the wing lifts off Snotlout, he remembers.  _Just a thing._  "Fishface!" Snotlout barks, making Fishlegs jump.

"What?!" Fishlegs yelps. It's kind of funny, but Snotlout has more important things to concentrate on.

"You said! You said my dad was wrong!"

Fishlegs sets his jaw. "I'm sorry." His tone indicates he isn't.

"No! No, listen. Is…" Snotlout sits up, Hookfang helping him although he doesn't really need it anymore. "Can I sit in a chair?"

"Sure." Fishlegs drags over a stool and helps ease Snotlout off Hookfang's stomach, steadying him as he gets used to a standing position. Hookfang rolls around and stands, shaking his body. Snotlout grins at him. "Feel like a walk to the door and back first," Fishlegs suggests, "get your blood going?"

Snotlout puffs up his chest. "I could  _run_ to the door and back."

Hookfang hoots and Meatlug snorts. Fishlegs just rolls his eyes. "I know you could, but please, restrain yourself."

Snotlout strides to the door. He's still missing most of his usual swagger, but at least Fishlegs doesn't have to keep pace with him anymore like when Snotlout was first practicing (practicing  _walking,_ of all the dumb, stupid…! Why isn't he stronger?!) so he could catch Snotlout before he fell flat on his face. "See?" He spreads his arms – carefully – when he's at the door, and turns, resting his fists on his hips in triumph. It does feel good to be able to stand without falling, to be able to trust his own body to hold him up. He feels so much stronger than yesterday. Every day he feels stronger.

"Good job, Snotlout," Fishlegs says, and  _Thor_ his smile is genuine and it makes Snotlout's stomach flip. He's not making fun of Snotlout for his pride in walking a few lousy steps. He  _really thinks_ Snotlout's done well. Snotlout feels himself filling with warmth and strength. He walks around the hut, carefully, in a wide circle. By the second circuit, he's feeling confident enough to swing his arms. "Don't overdo it," comes the prissy instruction.

"Fishface, I am perfectly…" And just like that, fatigue pulls at him, dragging him down. "Okay, maybe not." Fishlegs allows Snotlout to return under his own power, and he collapses into the stool, sweating and breathing hard, but grinning with satisfaction, like he's just finished a great sparring session. Hookfang rumbles and comes around behind Snotlout to give him something to lean on. He settles against his friend's solid body gratefully. "Thanks, Fangster."

"That was impressive, Snotlout," Fishlegs grins, seeming genuinely excited. "If you make sure to eat well, you'll be back to your old self in no time!"

"My old self is kind of a muttonhead," Snotlout mutters, thinking back to his conversation with Hiccup.

A startled little frown line appears between Fishlegs' brows. "Well, I like you." Snotlout's mouth falls open. Fishlegs blushes and looks at the floor. "We all like you the way you are, Snotlout. You don't have to change on our account."

"I beat you up!" Snotlout blurts.

Fishlegs blinks. "Wha… When we were  _little?_  That was  _years_ ago, Snotlout. You've changed. I don't hold it against you anymore."

Snotlout stares. Then he looks away. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "For before." He plucks at his leggings. "When… when we were younger. For everything."

Fishlegs' big hand settles gently on Snotlout's knee. "Hiccup told me he forgave you with all his heart," he says. "So do I."

Snotlout looks up sharply. "You and Hiccup talk about me behind my back?"

That soft smile is still on Fishlegs' face. "Yes. Mostly about how you're our friend and we couldn't do without you."

"Always knew you were dumb," Snotlout mutters.

Fishlegs frowns. "Is this another one of your dad's things?"

"That's it!" Snotlout lunges forward, grabbing Fishlegs by the front of his tunic. Meatlug yelps, but settles. She's gotta know Snotlout can't hurt a Terror in his condition. In fact, the movement hurts  _him_ , to the point where he grimaces and Fishlegs catches him by the elbows. But it's not bad enough to distract Snotlout from what he has to say. "You said he was wrong!"

"Who was wrong?" Fishlegs stares. "Oh—you mean Spitelout?"

"Yeah." Snotlout can't help the way his eyes dart left and right like he's afraid to be overheard. "You said…" he whispers, looking down at where his hands are still clutching Fishlegs' tunic, "uh… you said…"

"I said everything he's taught you is wrong." Fishlegs' voice is so confident. Snotlout wishes he could be that strong. "I'm not talking about fighting or your skill with weapons – you're a great Viking, a wonderful fighter – I mean the ideas he puts in your head. –No, don't tell me he doesn't, Snotlout." There's fire in those hazel-green eyes. "He's told you so much you think you ought to believe, but you don't really believe it anymore. You're too good to believe that kind of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Snotlout snaps, defensive.

Fishlegs lets go of Snotlout's elbows and leans back. "Oh Thor, where do I start? He tells you there's no such thing as true friendship, he tells you your friends only use you and each other. He tells you caring is weakness, or that Vikings don't show their feelings. He tells you dragons aren't as good as humans. He tells you stuff about  _you_ not being as good as…" Fishlegs catches himself. "He says terrible things about you that I won't repeat."

"Boring, Fishface," Snotlout retorts, but his voice is shaky.

There's still fire in Fishlegs' eyes, but it's his turn to look down. "You said things. When you were sick."

Snotlout's heart slams in his chest. It's suddenly very cold. He can't seem to take a breath.

Hookfang's tail smacks him gently on the side of the head. "Get lost, ya pushy dragon," he snaps, and is met with another smack. "Hey! What gives?"nHe turns, still a little gingerly, to face Hookfang – who's obligingly snaked his head around to meet him halfway – and is met with a smug dragon mug. Hookfang's nostrils flare, and suddenly Snotlout can breathe again.

"Thanks for calming him down, Hookfang," Fishlegs cuts in, undeterred by the dragon huff he gets in return. Meatlug honks a laugh.

"Snotlout, relax. You didn't – I don't know what you're afraid you said, but you didn't tell any secrets. You just kept repeating things  _he_ told you. About not being good enough. About – I shouldn't even repeat it, it's all lies. About being disloyal, when you're the most loyal, most devoted... About being… uh… all kinds of bad things!" Fishlegs shakes his head. "For Thor's sake, you said you  _deserved_ it! Deserved what happened to you!"

"I  _did!"_

Hookfang shrieks. Fishlegs wouldn't have blamed him if he'd blasted another hole in the ceiling, but the weeks on sick-watch have improved the Nightmare's ability to control his flame indoors. Even if there is a fresh patch of roof on Hiccup's hut.

Meatlug shakes her head and grumbles. "Okay," Fishlegs says, careful to keep his tone neutral. "What makes you think anyone could possibly deserve a—what your father did to you?"

"I messed up. It's his right to punish me."

"He didn't  _punish_  you, Snotlout. He  _tortured_  you."

"Oh c'mon, Fishface! Way to be a drama queen!"

Hookfang growls. Meatlug chatters to him, and he honks over to her. Fishlegs looks up briefly at the dragon conversation, then turns his attention back to Snotlout. "If Viggo captured Hiccup and did to him what your father did to you," Fishlegs says, voice not quite steady, "to make him give up the Dragon Eye, would you call it torture?"

"My dad wasn't trying to get information out of me!" Snotlout argues.

"And that makes it not torture?"

"Don't use your logic on me, Fishface!"

"Oh, for gods' sake."

"I told you to quit being so dramatic! Torture's… I don't know, dungeons and branding irons! Not a few hits!"

 _"A few…"_  Fishlegs trails off, shaking his head. "You almost died, Snotlout."

"You and Hiccup keep saying that..."

"Because it's true!" Fishlegs bursts out, rising and starting to pace. "Your fever was so high I was afraid you'd lose your sight. The heat can affect your brain and the infection that you were in danger of developing—"

"Blah, blah, blah. Spare me the boring monologue. So I was laid up for a few days, big deal. You never had to stay in bed to recover after a punishment?"

Fishlegs stares. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Finally, he manages to speak.  _"No,_ Snotlout."

Snotlout's voice drops to a whisper. "...what?"

"No, my parents never beat me so badly that they made me sick afterward. My parents love me."

"My dad loves me!" Snotlout cries.

"I…" Fishlegs pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't doubt he loves you, in his own way. I mean, who wouldn't." There's no question in his tone. "You're the best Viking any father could want. You'd make any family proud."

"But I'm nothing special." Fishlegs opens his mouth to interrupt, but Snotlout keeps talking. "I've let him down so many times. Let the Jorgenson name down. I'm always disappointing him."

"He told you that as well, I'm guessing?"

"Uh—yeah…"

"That's why I'm saying, Snotlout: He. Is. _Wrong."_

"But – but he can't be wrong!" Snotlout blurts. "He… Uh… He…"

"He made you think you were nothing special. That was wrong." The fire is back in Fishlegs' eyes and voice. "He made you believe that bullying was the only way to succeed in life. That was wrong. He made you think…" Fishlegs has to swallow. "He  _tried_ to make you think that cruelty is the same thing as strength. That—that caring makes you weak. I can't tell you how wrong that was. I think maybe you already know." Fishlegs' eyes meet Snotlout's, and Snotlout inhales sharply at what he sees there. Hookfang croons, warm against his back. "Most Vikings couldn't break free of that training. It's only because you're so exceptional that you could."

Snotlout chokes. "It was—It was all Hiccup. You wanna praise someone, praise him."

Fishlegs shakes his head. "No, Snotlout. Hiccup took you away from Berk. He's our leader and everything. But the changes inside you? That was  _all_  you."

"You sound like Hiccup when he's trying to make me feel better," mutters Snotlout, looking down.

"Hiccup is so proud of you." Fishlegs' soft words seem to slip past Snotlout's defenses, caressing him like a summer breeze and settling into his heart even as Snotlout determinedly avoids looking at Fishlegs and traces patterns with a finger on his knee. "And I am too."

"What?" Snotlout raises his head. "I'm a screw-up. I'm  _Snotlout._ That's the  _definition_ of screw-up." He catches himself. "I'll deny it if you tell anyone I said it, but…"

But the pain in Fishlegs' eyes stops Snotlout short. "You… what?" Fishlegs whispers.

"Don't make me repeat it, Fishface." Snotlout grimaces. "Look at this last thing. Look at all the times I let you down before that."

Fishlegs stares, still with that pain in his eyes. "You have  _never_ let us down, Snotlout. Not now, and not ever."

"Yeah, I have." It's embarrassing to dredge up that old stuff, but… "I bullied you! I bullied Hiccup! Hel, I insulted you more times than I can count!" Fishlegs isn't responding, so Snotlout ups the ante. "I – I turned back on missions and left you guys high and dry. I sold water in a drought! I sold Changewing eggs! I accepted a little kid as payment! I  _bought_   _Gustav!"_

Peace seems to settle over Fishlegs as he listens. Finally, he smiles. "And look how far you've come."

Snotlout's breath catches. "Your achievement is worth even more," Fishlegs says softly, "because of how hard you had to work to get here."

Hookfang makes a soft sound and Meatlug nods sagely. But Snotlout can't speak. He can barely breathe. He ducks his head, just as Fishlegs starts speaking again.

"My parents always taught me that the stronger you are, the kinder you have to be. They always taught me that true strength is in protecting others and being selfless, so it wasn't hard for me to learn." Fishlegs looks like he's searching for words. "Your dad taught you that the only way to prove you're strong is to push people around and pick on people smaller than you. But... Snotlout, you're not that guy. Yeah, you were a bully for years. You had to fight, kicking and screaming, to come into your own. Against everything your father taught you. You rejected it all, and you  _chose_ to be a good man. Every time…" Fishlegs' voice is hushed. "Every time you offer to lay down your life for us, you're fighting two enemies. The Hunters… and your dad's voice in your head that tells you you're wrong." He takes a breath. "I don't know what to say to that kind of courage." Fishlegs pauses. He's silent for so long that finally, Snotlout raises his head to take a peek at his face.

And  _fuck_. The admiration he's always yearned for is right there, shining in Fishlegs' eyes.

"I…" Snotlout swallows, but his mouth is still dry. "I don't do anything you guys don't do."

"You've been through Hel to get here," Fishlegs whispers. "You had a longer road to travel. You fought for it every step of the way, and we never knew how much. Look what you had to overcome. And we didn't even know."

Hookfang rumbles softly in understanding. Snotlout meets his eyes, reaching out to pet whatever bit of him he can reach. "I was a muttonhead," he whispers. "I—I'm sorry, Hooky. I treated you like crap."

Hookfang cries out in protest. "That was your dad, too," Fishlegs says calmly. "I heard you… uh, repeating what he said."

Snotlout's eyes burn. "I'm sorry."

"It's just another thing you had to fight." Dammit. Fishlegs' eyes are so wide and soft, Snotlout's getting dizzy just looking in them, and it's kind of hard to concentrate. "Every kind impulse in you— you were taught it was wrong. Can you imagine what a good person you are, to still be compassionate in the face of all that?"

Snotlout can feel his own blush burning from his face down his neck and what feels like his whole body. "Shut up, Fishface," he mutters. "I don't have kind impulses."

"Uh huh," deadpans Fishlegs. "That's why you rub Nightmare gel into Hookfang's neck every night."

"I haven't done it since forever," Snotlout mutters.

"Shut up, Snotlout," Fishlegs says kindly, in tandem with a tail-whap from Hookfang.

"But – but before! I tried to control him! I – I tried to… to…"

Hookfang rumbles and purrs, licking Snotlout. "Hookfang never let you control him."

"But I would have if he'd let me." Snotlout shudders at the thought.

"You really believe that, huh."

"Yes!"

"So why didn't you leave him and find a dragon who would obey you?" Meatlug squawks even as Hookfang growls, steam snaking from his nostrils. Fishlegs looks up. "Let me finish, Hookfang," he glances over at Meatlug, "you too, Princess." He meets Snotlout's eyes. "Why didn't you replace him?"

Snotlout stares at Fishlegs in shock. "What? Rep…" The word sticks in his craw. "You can't  _replace_ Hookfang! He… He's  _implacable!"_

Fishlegs grins for some reason. "Why can't you?"

"Be… Because…" Snotlout can't even understand the question, let alone why Fishlegs is asking it. "He… He's  _Hookfang!_ There can't  _be_ another Hookfang!"

Hookfang lets out an undignified squeak, then bends to nuzzle Snotlout, purring. "That's right, big boy," Snotlout croons to him. "You can't replace him because there's only one Hookfang." He looks up at Fishlegs. "See? Simple."

Fishlegs shakes his head. "How can you take your capacity to care for granted and then say your dad's not wrong about you? About everything?"

"Uh…" It sounds like Fishlegs is telling him he's somehow wrong, but Snotlout can't get it. "I…"

"What about Hiccup?"

"Hiccup?" Snotlout's starting to get mad. "Fishface, you never make any sense, but this is beyond stupid, even for you. Can you get to the point?"

Fishlegs smiles like an idiot – who smiles when they're being insulted? – but then his face sobers. "If you'd been like your dad wants you to be, you'd never have accepted Hiccup as your leader."

"My dad accepts Stoick as his leader."

"Your dad's an asshole."

"That's what Astrid said."

"Sorry," Fishlegs says flatly. He doesn't sound sorry in the slightest.

"What are we even talking about, Fishface?"

Fishlegs takes a deep breath. "Your dad says your capacity to love is weakness. That you should 'be a leader' and replace Hiccup. Is he right?"

"Not  _replace_ him." Snotlout squirms. "He's the Hope and Heir and all. Just uh…" It's starting to feel warm in the hut. He lifts his arm carefully and scratches at a bead of sweat on his forehead. "Assert myself. Be more like him."

"More like Hiccup?"

"More like my  _dad."_

"Who's an asshole."

"Fishface…"

"Listen to me," Fishlegs raps out. "You didn't have to accept Hiccup. You could have joined the Outcasts. You could have offered Challenge. You could have assassinated Hiccup like some Viking tribes still do, if you were as bad as you say you are." Snotlout recoils in horror. "See? You can't even stand the thought of it. Because you're too good. You're a good guy, a good man, Snotlout, and we all know it."

"But I treated Hiccup like dragon dung. Hel, I treated  _you_ like crap."

"I already forgave you, so quit bringing that up." Fishlegs' face softens even more, if that was even possible. "And if anything, that just makes it more impressive how completely you've changed."

Snotlout shivers. He can't let himself believe all the nice things Fishlegs is saying. It'll only hurt more when he takes them all back. "I… I haven't changed. I  _still_  say shitty things to you guys."

"Yeah…" Fishlegs sighs. "We were all fooled for a long time. Till we realized it was a smokescreen because you're scared to show you've changed."

"I am not scared!" Snotlout snaps. Fishlegs levels him with a look that's entirely too knowing. "I… well yeah, I… I haven't - You don't just go around saying…" Fishlegs just keeps looking at him with the same knowing gaze. Snotlout wishes he didn't feel so desperate, wishes his desperation didn't show. "...Have I?" he whispers, leaning forward on the stool. "Changed? Have I really changed, Fishlegs?"

"Yes, you have, Snotlout." Fishlegs' face is earnest. "We all trust you. We rely on you on missions. We know you've got our back in battle. You've risked your life – you've nearly died for us – so many times. You still act abrasive…"

"Abrasive? Is that even a word, Fishface?"

"See?" Fishlegs grins. "But we know it's just an act, Snotlout. That whole 'look-out-for-number-one' thing. You feel comfortable pretending you're selfish, so we let you. But you're so giving. Hiccup knows it, I know it. The twins know it. The dragons all know it. Even Astrid knows it."

The blood seems to thrill through Snotlout's veins, from terror or joy he can't tell. Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, he whispers, "Uh… pr… uh, pretending?"

"Yes." Fishlegs takes Snotlout's hand. "Pretending."

Snotlout stares down at where his hand is completely enveloped by Fishlegs' giant one. Then he looks up at Fishlegs' soft, earnest green eyes. "You were raised to be the perfect macho Viking. It was too risky to appear any different. Especially in front of your dad. And I think…" A slight blush touches Fishlegs' cheeks and for the first time he looks shy and tentative, lowering his gaze to their joined hands. "I… I think you were maybe scared of the strength of your heart, of – uh – of what you had it in you to become, what you  _have_ become. Because you're so fearless in battle. You'll risk your life without a second thought when you're defending the ones you care about. But you were taught that caring is wrong…" Fishlegs shakes his head and looks away, face deep pink now. His hand loosens on Snotlout's and he pulls it back into his lap. "I apologize if I'm overstepping."

"You're not overstepping!" Now this is familiar ground. A shy Fishlegs is a lot easier to deal with. "You can tell me how awesome I am all day if you feel like it," Snotlout grins, puffing up his chest.

Hookfang rolls his eyes. But Fishlegs doesn't take the bait. "It  _is_ awesome to be able to change. To learn and grow. And you've done the most growing up of all of us. No matter how much you like to pretend you haven't."

There's a soft, comforting hum. It takes Snotlout a moment to realize it's the sound of Meatlug purring. His gaze flickers to her and she gives him such a soft look that he can't speak. "No," Snotlout whispers, overwhelmed. "No. I… You…" He shakes his head. "I'm… I'm still a muttonhead."

"You keep telling yourself that if it feels safer," Fishlegs smiles. "We'll play along as long as you want us to. But don't think we can't see what you're really like under all that armor. And don't ever doubt how we feel about you."

Snotlout's head is whirling. He closes his eyes.

Astrid's axe driving into the wall, her hand massaging his ankle. Her scream,  _You are my shieldmate and my friend. You have love in your heart._ Tuffnut and Ruffnut, in their own inimitable way, saying,  _Murder most foul, but in this case, 'tis fair. Just say the word and it shall be done._ Hiccup saying,  _I forgive you. For all of it. We're family._ And now Fishlegs…  _Scared of the strength of your heart. Of what you have it in you to become._

_Don't ever doubt how we feel about you._

Not just the humans; the dragons, too. His Hooky coming for him, answering his despairing cry. Wrapping him in his wings, staying close, never leaving. Caring for him like a dragon dam for a hatchling. Meatlug licking his feet. Stormfly and the others visiting. Toothless helping care for him, bringing ice, bringing Hookfang food as he cared for a helpless Snotlout. Caring for them both.  _But you were taught that caring is wrong._

"He said you'd leave me in the dirt," Snotlout breathes.

Fishlegs doesn't ask who 'he' was. "He was wrong."

"He… He said… He said you talked about me behind my back."

"We do," says Fishlegs calmly and Snotlout cringes. "We tell each other how much we care for you."

"You… He said you didn't care."

"He was wrong, Snotlout. We do care. All of us."

Snotlout's mouth opens and closes. All their nursing, all their support, all their caring… Their acceptance, their respect… He can't deny the evidence of his own senses. Finally, he whispers, "I earned the punishment?" His voice isn't as steady as he'd like.

"Never." Fishlegs' voice is Gronckle Iron. "He was wrong. You never deserved it."

"But… he said I let the family down…"

"You made a  _mistake_. You don't torture people for making a mistake."

"He said it was just a severe punishment. That any true Viking would take it."

"He was wrong about that too." Fishlegs visibly collects himself and takes a deep breath. "He was wrong about everything. About all of it."

"But…" Snotlout shakes his head. "He can't be. Not about—well…" He swallows. "Not about, uh. Family. Uh... punishment."

A little frown line appears between Fishlegs' brows. "Sorry?"

"The rule! The family rule! You don't know it?"

"Uh… No?"

"The patriarch is always right. He is law, he is order, he is justice." The mantra rolls off Snotlout's tongue from years of repetition. "How he decides to punish his wife or child is up to him, and no one can interfere. No one has the right to stop it."

Fishlegs' face drains of color. "His...  _what?"_ The last word is a whisper.

"His family, Fishface. His wife or—"

Fishlegs starts to shake his head. It's slow, then it picks up. "No, no, no, no. No! NO, Snotlout! No! A husband has _no_ right to discipline his wife! No!"

A heavy weight settles into Snotlout's gut. "What about the marriage vows?" Snotlout asks, breathing heavily. No, his father can't be wrong. Not about this.

Fishlegs stays quite still, staring at Snotlout with an unreadable expression. "Marriage vows?"

"Yeah, all the stuff about family, like, husbands and wives and children? The vows a wife takes when she belongs to a husband? Discipline?"

"What does Spitelout say about marriage vows?"

"I—I just said. The patriarch is always right…"

"No!" snaps Fishlegs. "He's not! He is wrong!"

"He is law, he is order, he is just—"

 _"Snotlout!"_ Fishlegs grabs him by the shoulders. Hookfang snarls. Meatlug rumbles in alarm and Fishlegs gentles his grip, even though it didn't hurt. "Snotlout," he says firmly. "No. No. _No._ Any Viking who lays a hand on his wife…" Fishlegs shakes his head. "That is wrong. It's a crime. Like what was done to you was a crime." His eyes are so confident, so hard, like Bonecrusher's. "Any wife would be justified in drawing her sword and cutting off the hand of the man who did that."

Snotlout shakes his head. "No, it's—it's a man's job to keep his woman in line, so sh-she doesn't ruin her husband's name, the name she was gifted with." Snotlout doesn't even care that his voice is cracking.

"No, no! No husband is allowed to do that!  _Never!_  Not just morally! On Berk, you'd be exiled!"

Snotlout's mouth falls open. He feels the blood drain out of his face. "I… Orston," he whispers.

"Yeah, I remember that lowlife! The guy who was exiled when we were kids, right? For beating his wife half to death!" Fishlegs' fists clench. "Hiccup was so upset. That was when Stoick made it officially a crime."

"He said… He said… He said…" Snotlout can't seem to get beyond those words. "He said… he said…"

"Who said? Spitelout?"

Fishlegs' voice is fading quickly as Snotlout's vision narrows to a point. His breathing is loud in his own ears. "He said… He said…"

* * *

_It's a quiet day. Snotlout is sitting by the fireplace at the foot of his father's chair, even though it's empty, carefully polishing the axe his father just gifted him. It's one of Spitelout's old axes, but he told Snotlout it was a prize axe, and that it was his job to make it look brand new again if he had any pride in being a Viking at all._

_"Listen up, boyo." Spitelout's harsh voice cuts through the silence, making Snotlout jump. The chair may be empty, but Snotlout knows that his parents have been talking in the other room. Snotlout's attention snaps to Spitelout without hesitation, back straight. His father looks serious and his mother slips behind him, fiddling around in the kitchen, her gaze on the floor._

_"Yes, Dad?" Snotlout asks, getting to his feet as fast as he can manage._

_"You're going to hear a story from your little friends, and they're going to be **wrong**." His father's face is serious. "So I want to tell you what really happened."_

_Snotlout nods obediently. "Yes, sir."_

_"Sit at the table with me," Spitelout says, nodding towards the table._

_There's a flare of excitement in Snotlout's chest at the order. Spitelout wants to sit with him at the table, talk to him sitting face to face, like real men. All they need is mead and mutton. Snotlout rushes to the table, with as much dignity as he can muster. He has to stop himself from running like a child. Those types of emotions, outside of battle, are not good. They're girly, weak. Real Vikings don't show emotion off the battlefield. The best show none on the battlefield, but even the best can slip up in the heat of battle._

_"Lass," Spitelout barks and Ma flinches, her back turned to them. Snotlout watches her tense back with bated breath. "Go to the market. I've already talked to you. No need to interrupt the men."_

_Snotlout's attention snaps to his father, a swell of pride in his chest. His da called him a man. Spitelout sees him as a **man**. He sits a little straighter, chest puffing out, and waits patiently for Spitelout to starts speaking._

_He hears Ma quickly gather her things and leave out the front door. Spitelout sits at the table, settling in like he's just had a hard day, and taking off his helmet. He puts it on the table and Snotlout hurriedly does the same, trying not to show how excited he is. "Now, boyo, I've already told you your friends are wrong, but I need to know if you've heard anything from them. A story maybe? That happened this past week?"_

_Snotlout's brow wrinkles in thought. What could his da be talking about? He shrugs after a moment. "The fishbone was telling the others something, but I wasn't listening."_

_Spitelout smiles, eyes full of pride. Snotlout's chest feels warm. He did something right. "Good. Good. Hiccup is going to get the story the most wrong. His da made a huge mistake and he's spreading lies to save his arse." Spitelout's smile drops into a dark glare, focused somewhere on the wall across from him, and he grumbles, "Using that whelp to spread his lies. That kid doesn't shut up."_

_Snotlout stays quiet. His father didn't ask him a question, so he doesn't want him to speak. Snotlout's better than Hiccup. He can keep his mouth shut._

_Spitelout shakes his head and focuses back on Snotlout, his face more neutral. Snotlout relaxes a bit. "You remember my friend Orston?" Snotlout nods. "You know how he's recently been exiled?"_

_Snotlout nods again. It's all anyone can talk about, not just Hiccup. "Stoick made a **mistake**  exiling him," Spitelout says with vehemence, leaning over the table with a serious look on his face. Snotlout has to fight back the instinctive urge to lean away. Sure, his father is intimidating, but Snotlout isn't scared of him. "You know what Orston's crime was?"_

_Snotlout shakes his head, trying really hard to not lean away from Spitelout. He looks so angry. And he's leaning closer, eyes on fire. Snotlout gulps, using all his strength to stay in place. "Orston disciplined his wife," Spitelout growls._

_Snotlout's jaw drops. A wash of relief floods him, draining the fear he was feeling and making him almost weak. Spitelout isn't angry at **him**. He wants to slump, but he can't. Not with his father watching him so closely._

_"Stoick interfered in Orston's domestic affairs and exiled him for maybe getting a little too zealous." Spitelout's speech is getting rushed now, his annoyance breaking through. "You know what his wife's crime was?" He doesn't give Snotlout a moment to even contemplate before he answers his own question: "She was with another man." Snotlout gasps. "And Stoick protected that whore, spread horrible lies about Orston to sway the council to his side. I was disgusted at how low Stoick would sink, but I was the minority. If I had disagreed with Stoick, he would have exiled me as well." Snotlout is horrified, and he doesn't even try to hide it from his da. "So I was forced to vote to exile one of my closest friends."_

_"How could he do that?" Snotlout asks, disbelief pitching his voice too high._

_Spitelout chuckles and leans back in his chair, shrugging. "He's the chief. He can do whatever he wants. And he's always done whatever he wants, putting his own beliefs over what is best for Berk. He's allowed that disappointment of a son to live, tainting the prestige that comes with the title of Hope and Heir, he's allowed a dragon to take his wife away, failed to do the very thing that husbands are supposed to do: protect their wives." He sighs, bitter. "But we can't say a bad thing about him."_

_"What can I do?" Snotlout asks, fearful of Stoick. He's never truly been scared of the chief before, well, not any more than is natural for a man so much stronger than oneself. That fear stems from awe, from seeing how powerful Stoick is on the battlefield. This fear… this is fear that Stoick will uproot his family **because he can**._

_"That's my boy," Spitelout says, bright smile on his face. "Trying to protect your family. Like a real man." He leans forward again, but not as seriously as before. Well, not as angrily as before. "What you can do to keep this family safe is be wary of what you share with the others. You know that the patriarch is always right. He is law, he is order, he is justice." Snotlout nods. He knows those words backwards and forwards. "If Stoick heard you say that, he would send me away. You don't want your da to be exiled, do you?"_

_"No!" Snotlout shakes his head firmly. "No! I don't!"_

_The smile on Spitelout's face makes Snotlout's chest swell with pride. "Good. You're a good boy, Snotlout." He ruffles Snotlout's hair. "Don't listen to their stories. They don't know." He pauses. "They aren't strong enough."_

_Snotlout can hear the_ 'but  **you**  are' _that is left unsaid. His chest puffs out a little more. "Okay, Da."_

_"Good," Spitelout says once more, then grabs his helmet, putting it back on his head and standing. He pauses and turns to Snotlout, making sure that Snotlout is looking into his eyes. "It was nice to talk to you like a man, son."_

_Snotlout fears he might burst from how proud he is. A man. Da called him a man. His father thinks he's a man._

* * *

He can't breathe. That was so long ago. Snotlout probably wasn't more than ten summers old at the time, still so young, still so completely under his father's thumb. His heart is pounding in his ears and his mouth is dry. "He said… he said…"

Fishlegs' voice is filtering in through the sound of his heartbeat. "-sy, Snotlout. Easy. Breathe." Fishlegs has a hold on both of Snotlout's hands. Snotlout squeezes them, trying to ground himself somehow. Fishlegs squeezes back just as tightly; Snotlout can feel the bones in his hands grinding together, but it's pulling him back. Somehow he focuses on Fishlegs' face. Fishlegs gives him a warm, strained smile. "Hey, are you with me?"

Snotlout gulps and nods, swallowing loudly. "Y-Yes," he cracks out.

"Describe my hands," Fishlegs orders softly.

Snotlout frowns. "Wha?"

"Tell me what my hands feel like. Rough? Smooth?"

"They, uh… rough. Warm. B-big," Snotlout chokes out.

"What do you smell?"

Snotlout doesn't understand, but he's still a little too off to question anything. "Uhhh… Hookfang. The-the fire. Those herbs. Uh, f-fish?"

Fishlegs is nodding. "Good. Good. What do you see?"

"You," Snotlout answers without a thought, his breath coming easier. He's able to look around. "Umm… Hiccup's workbench. Meatlug." Snotlout takes a deep breath and relaxes against Hookfang. There's a croon and Hookfang starts purring. "I can't see him, but I know Hookfang is here."

Fishlegs sighs, looking relieved. "There you are."

Snotlout leans back against Hookfang, bones loose. "He… He told me…." He's calm but he still can't get the words out.

"I shouldn't be overexerting you."

"No, Fishface. I have to… he told me…"

"Your dad, right?" Fishlegs coaxes, rubbing Snotlout's hands gently. Then Fishlegs' eyes widen. "Was Orston a friend of Spitelout's?" Snotlout manages a weak nod. Fishlegs' face hardens, but he keeps his tone coaxing. "What did he tell you?"

"He… h…" Snotlout can barely keep his head up. "He said Stoick was wrong. Exiled Orston for correcting his wife."

"He nearly killed her, Snotlout," Fishlegs whispers, eyes on their joined hands. "Hiccup overheard Stoick and Gobber when they thought he wasn't listening." Snotlout's stomach drops. " _Any_ man who lays a hand on his wife is a coward, but this was attempted murder. She had to stay at Gothi's for a month. He broke her arm, gave her a concussion, dislocated her shoulder. She collapsed in the Great Hall because she was bleeding so badly."

Snotlout's heart is starting to pound again. He slips his hands out of Fishlegs' hold and shifts, trying to sit up straighter. "But she was… She was with a-another man…"

"Even if she  _was,_ would that give him the right?!" There's so much conviction in Fishlegs' tone. "If someone's cheating on you, you leave them. Not  _kill_ them."

"B… but a woman who betrays her husband..."

Fishlegs shakes his head. "She  _didn't!"_ he yells, fire in his eye. He closes them and takes a deep breath. "She didn't betray her husband." Now he just sounds sad.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what she did? Do you know what his wife's crime was?" Fishlegs doesn't wait for an answer, sitting on the edge of his seat. "Orston saw her talking to another man in the market." Snotlout's stomach clenches. "And she talked to him for too long." He pauses, then adds bitterly, "According to Orston's defense."

The ground seems to fall away under Snotlout's feet. He can hear Hookfang's rumble, but it's far away. His father was so confident. So convinced.  _She was with another man._ "He wasn't lying… It wasn't a lie. It wasn't."

Snotlout's mouth seems to be moving without his volition. He feels numb, floaty. Where are Fishlegs' hands? Has he taken Snotlout's hands again? "Breathe, Snotlout. Breathe with me." Fishlegs is squeezing both of Snotlout's hands in one of his. "Come on." Fishlegs taps Snotlout's chest with the knuckle of his other hand. "Breathe in."

"He said… He said Orston was a good man…" He's gulping for air.

"Hey. Hey." Snotlout can hear Fishlegs snapping his fingers in front of his face, but the room is still unfocused. All he can see is his father calling him a man. He can still feel the pride filling his chest at the praise. Being able to sit at the table like an equal, his da confiding in him like a real man. Then he sees the tension in his mother's back.

"He's a good father," Snotlout chokes out. "A good husband…" He doesn't know if he believes those words. He hoped saying them out loud would make them true.

"Snotlout.  _Breathe."_

Snotlout drags in air. The room starts to slide back into focus. Hookfang purrs, the vibration making him feel less like he's floating away. Hookfang's tongue flicks against his cheek. "I-I'm okay, Hooky," he says. Hookfang is here. Fishlegs rubs his hands. He's safe. He's not in his old house. He's here, in Hiccup's hut, on the Edge.

Fishlegs is still holding his hands. "You almost died, Snotlout," Fishlegs whispers. "If we hadn't been very lucky," he takes a shuddering breath, "you would have died from what he did to you."

Snotlout's hands shift in Fishlegs' hold. His mouth is still moving without him controlling it, images of his parents flashing through his mind. His ma and da together, then apart.  _Together._ "He called her 'darling'," he whispers. Oh gods.

"What? Who?"

"When he was… when he was…" Snotlout can feel his limbs turning to water, his bones too sharp inside him like shards of ice. "When he was… punishing her."

Fishlegs inhales sharply. "B-breathe. Just breathe." He doesn't ask who the 'her' is.

"When she… When he…" Snotlout grabs onto Fishlegs' forearm, fingers digging into the flesh. Fishlegs flinches and hisses. Snotlout barely registers it. He has to know. "It's a husband's right to… to," he feels like he's choking, "to take his marital rights, i-isn't it? If the- if the wife refuses?"

 _"No,"_ Fishlegs gasps. In Snotlout's swimming vision, his face goes paler, almost green. "Gods, no, Snotlout,  _never. No."_

"He called her darling then, too." Snotlout can see it right in front of his eyes. He was only a kid back then, but he can still see it. "When he was making her… making her, uh…" He leans forward, stomach roiling.

"I shouldn't be hearing this." Fishlegs' voice is raspy. His hand is warm on Snotlout's back, fingers rubbing in a circle on his shoulder. Snotlout's never heard Fishlegs sound like this. He forces himself to look. Fishlegs looks like he's going to be sick.

It's that expression on Fishlegs' face that clicks everything into place for Snotlout. "I have to go," he says, pushing himself up off the stool. Hookfang offers his head to lean on, and he accepts the help.

"What?! Go? Go where?!" says Fishlegs, surging to his feet. "You need to rest."

"No, no, no, no, I need to leave. Right now," Snotlout insists, pushing Fishlegs' hands away. He stumbles a bit, but he can't afford any more weakness. Not now. Not after this.

"Snotlout! You're still sick! You have to rest!"

"You don't understand!" Snotlout yells, turning desperately to Fishlegs. "I have to go to Berk! She's... she's still back there. With him."

The admission seems to stun Fishlegs enough for Snotlout to get over to Hookfang's back. Hookfang already has his feet under him, tense, attention darting between him and Fishlegs. "We have to go, Hookfang," Snotlout says, clutching at his friend's neck. The saddle is off, of course, but it doesn't matter. There's no time to waste. Snotlout tries to get up onto Hookfang, stumbling and catching himself when his stubborn dragon pulls out of his reach. "Come on!"

Hookfang shakes his head, looking torn. "Please, Hookfang!" Snotlout begs. "I need to get back there! I have to!"

There must have been something in Snotlout's voice, because Hookfang lowers his head and allows Snotlout onto his neck. "No! Snotlout! You're not well!" Fishlegs yells. "Hookfang!" Hookfang turns to the doorway. Meatlug is standing between them, but only for a moment. Hookfang growls something and she shuffles out of his way, eyes wide. "MEATLUG!"

Snotlout can't turn back. He urges Hookfang into the air as soon as they've cleared the door and they're off, Fishlegs screaming at their back.

* * *

 **Note:**  There will eventually be a sequel to this story. Go bother Thursday26, not me. :)


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